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ihateoc · 2 months

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Break-In

(word count: 1,894) (shadow is attacked by an old colleague)

Shadow, known for being a light sleeper, awakens abruptly one morning, alerted by the faintest noise emanating from the other room. Something is off. A sense of foreboding washes over him as he narrows his eyes, only to find a knife aimed directly at his throat, halted just inches away.

"Nothing personal, Shadow," An oddly familiar voice spits out.

"Ember," Shadow acknowledges them by name, his face impassive, "You say it's not personal but ya came all this way just to stick a knife in me," His eyes meet Ember's with an uncanny calmness, even while at the brink of having his throat slit open.

"Tenchi wants you to come back. And he ordered me to kill you if you refuse," Ember explicates bluntly, their tone emotionless.

Of course, Tenchi would've sent someone after him now that he's out of their control. He wasn't surprised. No, he was slightly annoyed. Even more so that he sent Ember, a true professional. And they were smart enough to cut the lights so he couldn't take control of them through their shadow.

Shadow smirks, running his tongue over his lower lip. His voice echoes the mockery and disdain he harbors for Tenchi, "So, it's either go back to being someone's pet killer or die? Not much of a choice there."

"He thought you might say that," They hiss as the knife plunges towards his neck.

In a swift movement, Shadow manages to roll out of the way just in time. He hears the knife bury itself into the mattress where he was earlier, "Have you ever considered getting another job? You're too beautiful for this shit," He says, trying to buy himself some time as he scans his surroundings for something that could be utilized as a weapon.

"You're so damn insufferable but I guess domestic life hasn't changed you. How annoying," Ember retorts as they pull their knife free from the mattress, moving to swing at him again.

"Yeah, domestic life is annoying!" The dark-haired man counters. He doesn't miss a beat as he kicks out their leg, attempting to catch his assailant off guard and buy himself some more time. His eyes dart around the room once more, zeroing in on one of his discarded guitars.

'Looks like I'm gonna have to risk damaging one of my precious babies. Sorry, darling, it's either you or me right now,' He complains to himself, his eyes darting back to Ember when they speak up.

"How about this? Come with me or I'll kill your roommate," Ember taunts him apathetically, "I know you don't live alone."

Shadow's eyes darken at the mention of Bennett, "Lay one fucking finger on him and I'll make sure you regret it," He grits out, picking up his guitar and wielding it like a makeshift weapon.

"Shit-" Ember dodges his attack, bringing their knife down on the guitar and denting it, "Why are you wasting your time here? Tenchi took care of you."

Shadow grimaces at the damage inflicted on his instrument but doesn't lose focus. He gives a cynical laugh, eyeing Ember with murderous intent, "Taking care of me? Is that what you call it? I was his goddamn puppet."

"I knew the pay for this job wouldn't be worth it," They mutter to themself, dodging Shadow's oncoming assault, "You and I both know this lifestyle isn't for you. Just save us both some time and come with me."

"Sorry to disappoint you, Em," Shadow retorts with a sardonic grin, attempting to disarm Ember by hitting their wrist with the neck of his guitar.

They absorb the attack, groaning in discomfort but holding their knife steadily, "Ugh, this is just like that time with Rubi. If Tenchi hadn't put a stop to that, who knows where you'd be?"

"Rubi..." The dark-haired man's voice dies in his throat as a rush of memories comes flooding back. The taste of her lips and the sound of her laughter had all been replaced with a bitter sense of abandonment when she supposedly left him high and dry. He tears his gaze away from Ember to stare out the window, "You're saying Tenchi lied about Rubi?"

How many more lies had he based his life on? What else did they take away from him?

"Tenchi wanted to keep his favorite weapon all to himself," Ember snarls, "He had me steal your wallet and threatened Rubi's dad, telling him that he'd tell all of his friends that his daughter was fucking a murderer. So, he did. She went to a psych ward because of you, Shadow."

Shadow's grip on the guitar tightens until his knuckles turn white. A whirlwind of rage and betrayal consumes him, extinguishing any remnants of mercy he might have held for Tenchi.

"Enzo sent Rubi away?" He grits out through clenched teeth, "Because of me?"

"Yeah, I was there when Tenchi called him," Ember explains, narrowing their eyes accusatorily, "You're a monster. There's no way you don't see that. Come with me already."

Shadow growls, a dangerous glint in his maroon eyes, "No, I'll never go back to that life, and I sure as fuck don't plan on being your captive either."

She went to a psych ward because of him? Everything he thought he knew what nothing more than lies... All this time. But he won't let his past define him. He's not the monster they made him out to be.

"Don't you even feel sorry for what you did? That poor girl was sent away because of you. They probably treated her like she was insane because you couldn't just do your damn job, you fuckup. And all of us suffered from it."

"Of course, I feel sorry!" Shadow snaps back, nearly shaking with anger and guilt, "You think I wanted any of this?! You think I don't regret everything I did in my past every damn day?!"

"And now you're off your game, idiot," Ember kicks the guitar out of his hand and hurls the knife at him, "Emotions were never part of the job."

Dodging the knife with a hasty roll, Shadow retorts, "Yeah, well... People change."

He charges at Ember straight on. He had no idea how this confrontation would end but he was ready to fight until his last breath. Ember counters by delivering a knee to Shadow's stomach, causing him to gasp for air as the wind is knocked out of him. They swiftly remove their back-up dagger from their boot, thrusting towards him. Before their attack can land, a kick in the back sends them sprawling to the ground as Ren looms over them.

"I didn't realize you had guests," Ren bites out sarcastically as she moves to stand in front of Shadow defensively.

"Always got perfect timing, princess," Shadow manages to wheeze out between coughs, pushing himself onto his feet while giving her a sharp, appreciative nod, "Thanks for saving my ass... Again."

"Bennett came to get me, saying he saw that the door was open when he got home from breakfast," She explicates casually while unholstering her dual daggers, "Who's your friend?"

"Ah, just an old colleague... Ember," Shadow snarls out their name like a curse, "Seems like they came to 'invite' me back."

Great, now Ren is involved in his mess too. Why can't he ever keep her out of his problems?

Ren glowers at Ember with sharp, grey eyes, her tone dripping with venom, "Ember, I don't know how you found Shadow but I recommend leaving since there's no chance of you beating us both."

"Ugh, you're that girl, aren't you?" They grumble with annoyance evident in their voice, "The one that Shadow could never beat," Pausing for a beat, a sneer forms on their lips, "So what? Shadow just moved to a new owner like some kind of stray dog?"

"I ain't no one's dog," Shadow growls defensively, his blood beginning to boil as he shoots Ember a disgusted glare, "And Ren here, she saved my life more times than I can count."

"That's right. Shadow isn't anybody's tool anymore," Ren says sternly, before musing with a confident smirk, "I wonder what Tenchi will say about you being locked away."

"Wha-" Before Ember can even respond, the door bursts open as a pair of police officers rush into the room.

Ren's stalling was successful. She watches the officers drag Ember away in handcuffs while Bennett works on fixing the lights. Shadow sits on the bed, his fists clenched, thoughts racing as he considers everything Ember had told him.

Ren hovers over him, peering down at him with a look of concern, "Shadow, what's wrong? What did they say?"

"A lot of things, Ren. Things I thought were true weren't," Shadow drawls out slowly, still processing the information while clenching his fists tighter, "They said Rubi didn't betray me... That she was sent to a psych ward..." His voice trails off as he looks down at the ground with an expression of pure hatred.

"Who is Rubi?" Ren wonders thoughtfully, the bed dipping down beside him when she sits down.

"Rubi was... Is someone I cared for, once," Shadow starts, his voice a low rumble, "She treated me like nobody else ever did," His gaze hardens and he grits his teeth in anger, "But Tenchi lied about her leaving with another man when in reality it looks like she was sent to a psych ward by Enzo, her dad. Because she was seen with a killer like me."

A sigh escapes from Ren's lips upon hearing that man's name, "Tenchi's a huge dick. I'm sorry. That sounds rough."

"Well, your sympathy is surprising," The former mercenary retorts with a dry laugh, his eyes softening ever so slightly as he looks at Ren, "Thanks, beautiful. It's rough but I'll deal. Always do."

"What was Rubi like?"

"She was... Different. Kind-hearted. Rich girl, you know? But she had this thing about her, not looking down on others like her kind usually do," Shadow explains softly, "Every moment I spent with her felt real and honest for the first time in my life, even though I lied to her about who I was at first."

Ren nods in acknowledgement as she suggests, "Maybe we could do some research and see if we could meet up with her someday."

A look of surprise flashes across his face, followed by a hint of uncertainty as he asks with an incredulous smirk, "You... You'd do that for me?" When she nods, he looks away, trying to brush off his vulnerability while avoiding Ren's eyes, "We'll see if she even remembers a miserable guy like me."

"I'm sure she remembers. You're unforgettable, aren't you?" She remarks, a playful grin on her lips as she attempts to lighten the mood.

"Unforgettable, huh?" Shadow's smirk broadens into a grin, "That's one way to put it," Gaining back some of his usual sarcastic charm, he adds, "Thanks for the cheer-up attempt though, sweetheart. It was... Nice."

"We'll look into it, okay?" She reassures him, patting his knee before standing up and leaving the room.

When Ren pats his knee, an unexpected warmth spreads through him. His eyes linger on his old copy of Pride and Prejudice that sits on the table and for a moment, he's lost in his memories.

"Yeah..." He murmurs quietly once she's out of earshot, "We'll see."

#OC #my ocs #my characters #my writings #hxh oc #hunter x hunter oc #oc: shadow #oc: ren #oc: ember

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jeanette-luminia · 2 years

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"Matt?" He heard a soft voice echoed through the bedroom, he felt guilty leaving you to sleep alone in his bed—occasionally looking for warmth.

"You have that long face again." You touched his bruised cheek, you're glad enough he didn't fight some tough men for him to get deep cuts that requires stitches. But still, you're worried.

"I'm fine, my love." He simply replied with a small smile forming.

"Tell me what's bothering you." You kneeled in front of him, gently playing with his hand, he likes you playing with his hand, it helps you calm down, it helps him find peace, even for once.

He felt a lump on his throat and a wave of overwhelmed wash over him. He was used to the rough lifestyle he has, he was never used to this kind of intimacy. But you made him change.

He didn't realized the tears forming in the corner of his eye, he felt so guilty.

"Oh Matt..." You stood up and bring his head towards your chest, gently combing his hair using your fingers.

"I'm sorry." He apologized as his tears kept coming. "For what?"

"I leave whenever you need me, need me to hold you in the night. I'm sorry—"

"Matthew." Your stern tone abruptly stopped him from talking. "I don't care if your not with me every night. What I care about is you alive, I care about if you're breathing."

You felt a pair of arms wrapped around your body. He sobs, he doesn't thing the devil deserves someone, someone like you.

"I love you so much..."

He hides on the crook of your neck, wetting it with his tears in the process, but you didn't care. All you care about is that he's here with you, and that what's matters.

"I love you too."

I wrote this in my phone and at 12 am don't @ me. Tell me if I got something wrong.

#matt murdock x reader #daredevil x reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x y/n #daredevil x y/n #daredevil x you #matt murdock #daredevil #☕: writes

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folkloreguk · 3 years

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an angel for a demon (3)

A/N: Here's the last part of this small series! You don't necessarily need to read all of them to understand this one, but it does probably make more sense if you do. As always, feedback is deeply appreciated! Have a good day x

genre: smut, optional bias (m) x reader (f), demon!bias, angel!reader, unprotected sex, oral (m receiving), reader gives her first bj

words: ~ 6.7 k

PART1 (M)

PART2 (M)

“I’m going out to pick up some food and stuff, do you want to come along?” you heard him ask. You had your legs up against the wall, your back on the bed, and a magazine in your hands. The women on the pages had you gushing, on the verge of hypnotization. You swore if you looked at those infatuating pictures one minute longer, you’d be swallowed whole by them.

When you had worked your way through some science books and were still hungry for more to read, H/N had brought you some magazines, mostly about fashion but also gossip and lifestyle tips. Turns out letting a clueless angel read about what’s supposed to be good for women was not a smart idea. Up in the clouds, from where you used to watch earth’s women, they had all looked equal to you – beautiful, intelligent, and capable. Now, down in the reality of it all, things appeared much more complicated. Which angel could have known it took diets, workout routines, anti-aging creams and the perfect outfit for your body type to be viewed the same way you had always looked at women from above? And most importantly, how did any woman manage to uphold all these expectations the magazines named? It was all too much and seemingly impossible. Abruptly, you were pulled out of your train of thoughts.

“Y/N? Did you hear me?” he asked, peaking his head through the door. “What are you doing?”

“I’m sorry,” you said, putting down the magazine on your chest. “No, I’d like to stay here.”

“Alright,” he said, “Would you like me to bring you anything from the store?”

He walked over to you and sat on the bed. His hands softly brushed over your hair, down your cheek and neck, barely touching your collarbones. He was in his black, intimidating clothes, per usual, but his eyes held nothing but fondness for you.

“Actually, maybe there is something,” you said. “Look.”

You picked up the magazine and pointed at the page.

“Can you buy me a dress like this one? They say it would fit me best. And could you get some makeup for me? I don’t know much about it, but maybe you-“ you said. Usually, he was one to listen carefully to every of your words, as if you were the most interesting person he had ever met. This time, he interrupted you.

“Stop. Where is this coming from?” he asked. “I want you to forget all those things you’ve read in those magazines, okay?”

You were confused, thinking you were learning by reading those articles. Gently, he caressed your face. “You know I’ll buy you anything in the world, right? But only if that’s what youwant. Everything they tell you to do, everything they tell you to buy, it’s brainwashing. You will wear whatever dress you find pretty, and if you want to wear makeup, that’s fine. But you will only do those things if you want to do them, okay? There’s nothing you need to change about yourself.”

“But they say you need to start early to get a nice body, and to prevent aging,” you said. “They say men will admire me.”

“We’re immortal, my angel,” he said. “And even if we weren’t, what’s wrong with growing old? Wouldn’t you want the traces of your experiences to be visible on your skin? Those companies, they all just want your money and so they try to scare you into believing you’re not good enough. But truth is, you always are. All those times people tug on their skin in front of a mirror, or whenever they break a sweat trying to lose weight, or when they compare themselves to those who look different from them – they’re already good enough. They’re perfect. This worlds wants you to never be at peace with who you are. But you need to promise me you won’t succumb to those nonsensical tactics to make you hate yourself. And don’t you ever wait for a man to give you approval. That’s your job and your job only.”

You listened, wide-eyed and intrigued. No magazine could ever speak so honestly, and you believed every word he said. After all, you trusted him much more than some random author of an article that was trying to sell you the latest weight loss-magic-powder.

“Okay, I promise.” You sat up and leaned your head against his shoulder. “I’ve never even really thought about it, but I think I’m pretty.”

“Not thinking about it might just be the best way to go about it in this world,” he said, and placed a kiss on your forehead. The feeling of warmth lingered on your skin seconds after he had already pulled away.

“I change my mind, then,” you said, “Do you think you can get me a dress like this?”

You showed him a different picture this time. It showed a lot more skin than the one you had pointed out before. You only realized this when he was already smirking at your choice.

“I’ll see what I can find,” he said. “That’s an interesting option, angel.”

“Hey! I just like the color, alright?” you defended yourself, making him chuckle. Over the course of four weeks, you had come to know his insinuations and his little jokes better. But at the same time, you couldn’t deny the incredible sensation his eyes on you gave you. When he goggled at you because you had decided to wear his shirt for a day, or the way he watched you welcome him with open arms when he came home.

You now understood that certain words or actions, or even just an article of clothing – or lack thereof – could conjure an insatiable hunger in his eyes. At first, it was a little scary, having a demon stare you down as if he wanted to eat you up. But now that you knew what his hands felt like on your skin, and that his lips were made for much gentler actions than to hurt you, you wanted nothing more than to coax the starving demon into playing with you, any chance you got. And perhaps that dress in the catalogue would do just that, and not only bring you joy. It was a win-win, really.

“I’ll be back in the afternoon,” he said. “Don’t miss me too much.”

“You know I always do,” you said.

“I’ll give you all the missed attention when I get home, alright?” he said, bending down to your ear. “You can have whatever you want, then.”

To be honest, half of the time you didn’t know what you wanted him to do. But with every time his hands explored your body you learned more. There were so many things humans did to make each other feel good, you doubted you’d ever be able to try everything. His promise made you wish he was already back home when he had barely stepped out of the door. One last grin and nod and he left you alone.

What did angels do on a Saturday noon? Usually, you’d be patrolling your village, entertaining yourself by watching children play tag, admiring lovers walking hand in hand or discovering a family that had just adopted a small animal. Their human eyes shined when they felt happiness, and it was infectious to you. You wanted to send your blessing to all of them, make sure they never felt anything but delight, but you knew that wasn’t how business worked down there. Some things were even out of your control. Now, on earth, you were ready to take whichever hardships were to come if it meant you could have been with your demon lover.

You rubbed the sleep out of your eyes. You had only gotten up an hour ago. Last night, you had been kept awake for long. He was untiring when he was between your legs. You had learned that he didn’t need nearly as much sleep as you did, and when he set his mind to making you come by his administrations, he didn’t waver to do so. But losing sleep in exchange for pleasure was okay with you. Time became meaningless, either way, when you had your face buried in a pillow, tears threatening to spill over from how good he made you feel. Sometimes he made you come while sitting in his lap, then you’d cling to him like a baby and muffle your whimpers by pressing your lips against the skin of his shoulder. He loved telling you ‘Look at me’ right when you were falling. It was hard to keep your eyes from rolling to the back of your head or not to collapse in his arms, but for him you would try your best. Often you found your thoughts lingering on the memory of his gaze when you came apart under his touch. It had something of fascination and protectiveness, and you’d never get enough of it.

Great, now you wanted him again. And he wasn’t here. How had you gotten this way? On occasion you wondered if one of the other angels had already spotted you and the sins you were committing. You wouldn’t call them sins now, or ever again. It wasn’t like you wanted to adapt to a demon lifestyle. But you felt at home for the first time, here on earth. It was the perfect grey zone between heaven and hell.

As an attempt to appease your needy mind, you picked up your magazine again. Just because you shouldn’t believe everything they said didn’t mean you shouldn’t have read it at all, right? You flipped through articles on fitness and the newest fashion, but after skimming the pages for only a few seconds, you were done with those tips. He wanted you because of who you were – an angel – and you doubted than any beauty routine could make him more obsessed with you than he already was. But then you read something most curious to your angel eyes. ‘How to make him feel best – tips from a porn star’ the title said. Whatever in the heaven a porn star was, they seemed to be some sort of expert on pleasuring men, and you, always eager to learn something new, were intrigued from the very first word.

But soon you had to admit, you weren’t at all sure what they were referring to with those words and actions. When you and your demon boyfriend had sex, he usually did most of the work, while you took whatever teasing or pleasure he inflicted on you. He had said he liked it this way, but now you weren’t so sure. Or was this ‘10 things to do become a blowjob-pro’ – list just another attempt of society to brainwash women? You weren’t one to initiate talk about sexual stuff, but maybe you’d try to question him on the meaning of what you had read.

You flipped another page and finally you had arrived at a page you could work with. It was a bunch of comfort food recipes. Right away you fell in love with the picture of the freshly baked cinnamon rolls in the top right corner. H/N had promised you to teach you how to cook, but so far you hadn’t made much progress. The difficulty level read beginner, and five minutes later you stood in the kitchen. With some music in the background your enthusiasm only sparked more. Baking was new and came with slight overwhelmingness and the stress of making sure you weren’t forgetting to add any ingredient. But the Christmassy scent of cinnamon and the feeling of making something from scratch made you happy, and with rapt attention you finished your first completed recipe ever.

You wiped some flour off your forehead. Hopefully H/N would like the cinnamon rolls too, because as tasty you found your creation, there was no way you were able to devour them all by yourself. As if on cue, you suddenly heard the key slide into the lock of the front door. Probably prompted by the heavenly scent, he called your name.

“Here,” you answered, mouth full of a bite of cinnamon roll. When he walked in, he already had his famous smirk on his face. It was your favorite. You knew it was reserved only for you.

“What did you make?” he asked. But he had his answer when he saw the baked goods in front of you. He set down the bags and put his arms on your waist from behind. With a hum, you lifted the cinnamon roll to his lips, and he took a bite. He almost moaned at the taste and you grinned.

“Do you like them?” you asked, already knowing the answer but still awaiting more praise. You squealed a little at how quickly he spun you around. His nose touched yours and your heartbeat raced.

“It’s like they came with you straight from heaven,” he said. “Hmm…I missed my angel.”

His lips when he kissed you tasted like sugar and spice and you melted straight into his touch. You only noticed he had run his finger over the gooey leftover icing when it was already too late. He was a demon after all. And if demons were good at one thing, it was causing mischief.

“Hey,” you protested at his hands on your neck. Then your reaction quickly altered as his finger slid lower, down to your collar bones and to where your low-cut shirt started. “Great, now I’m all sticky.”

You didn’t understand at first that messing with you wasn’t his full intention. But he tilted his head to the side and ran his hot tongue over the icing on your skin, and you gasped suddenly. This wasn’t just a joke. He wanted you. He made a humming noise, as if the sweetness combined with your own taste were only complimenting each other. When he pulled down the neckline of your shirt a little, so he could have every last drop of the sugary substance on your skin, you couldn’t help but whimper. You wanted so desperately for him to do it again, that you thought about sticking your own fingers into the bowl of icing and smearing it on your chest. His eyes were playful when he looked up at your reaction.

“Oh no. If you’re all sticky I guess you’ll need a shower, will you?” he said, “What a coincidence. I was thinking of taking one, just now.”

You had never taken a shower with him, or anyone, for that matter. But you had a feeling that the both of you wouldn’t be keeping to yourself, standing naked in front of each other. You didn’t mind. And you guessed your approval was written on your face, because he pulled you in and kissed you hard. Again, you remembered the article you had read. Was now a good time to ask him about it?

While you were contemplating, his tongue slid over your bottom lip and met yours. You had been too shy to ask before, but now you were speechless. Gently, he grabbed your hand and led you out of the kitchen and into the hallway. You were a mess of lips and tongues and hands and feet stumbling over each other. Every few meters you stopped to push yourself close against him. It was like a game of who could go without kissing each other for longer. And you were both lousy at it.

He loved pushing you up against the wall, trapping you between his arms on each side of your head. This way, he could brush up against your shaking body and you had nowhere left to go. Needless to say, you had no intentions of getting away, no matter what. He knocked the breath out of your lungs, and you kissed him back like you could breathe him in instead. As if he had become your new source of oxygen, or whatever it was you really needed to survive. It these moments, air seemed like a subsidiary matter. So long as you had his hot tongue licking down your neck and his busy hands on your ass under your dress, nothing else truly mattered.

Your kisses were open-mouthed and far more confident than they had been only weeks ago. You now knew how much he liked when you grabbed his hair tightly, or when you whispered his name against his devouring lips, as if it was the only word you had ever been taught. Like it was the only word you ever wanted to know. Before you had even made it to the bathroom, half of your clothes were scattered somewhere along the way.

“I can’t believe I just had you yesterday and here I am already missing you this much again,” he mumbled against your earlobe, teeth playing with your soft skin. “You really are otherworldly. There’s no other explanation.”

His words made you feel proud. The pleasure was one thing you had come to love quickly, but then you noticed the power you could have over him, by merely existing. It was almost unbelievable, but there he was, hard and needing you, day by day. Again, your mind wandered off to the magazine article.

“Can I ask you something?” Your voice must had been different from your usual timid tone when you were in the middle of something unholy.

“Anything, angel,” he said. He let his lips linger on your cheek, half an inch from your mouth, and your stomach twisted in how badly you wanted him to sip on your lips like he was starving.

“Do you like always doing everything when we- ,“ you said. He gave you a puzzled expression, so you tried to explain yourself better. “I mean, if you ever want me to do more, you can ask me to. I don’t know everything yet, but I can learn.”

You weren’t even sure if you understood what the heaven you had just stammered. His look reminded you of the one he had when you asked him to buy him the dress and the makeup that morning.

“I love what we have, little angel,” he said, “What’s making you think you need to do anything differently?”

How were you supposed to explain what you had read when you hadn’t even properly grasped it yourself? You opted for taking his hand and walking him to the bedroom. There the magazine still lay, like an ancient cursed book you weren’t sure you wanted to know front to back. You picked it up and quickly handed him the article. Feeling your cheeks heat up, you opted to take a seat on the edge of the bed.

His lips curled into a devilish grin upon eyeing the page, and you thought the ground might swallow you whole. Maybe you shouldn’t have said anything at all and spared yourself the embarrassment. But at the same time, you were eager to know.

“I thought I told you, magazines are just trying to make you doubt yourself,” he said, raising his eyebrows.

“I know, but if there’s anything I can do to make you feel as good as you make me feel, I want to do it,” you confessed. He bent down, cupping your face.

“No one’s ever felt as good to me as you have, angel,” he said, “You’re heaven to me. Do you understand that?”

With your mouth squished together slightly, you nodded your head that was in his hands.

“By the devil, you’re so adorable,” he said. “If you really want to know, though, I’ll show you.”

Even more eagerly, you nodded again. He chuckled. You couldn’t handle how handsome he was – all messy hair, bare chest and black eyes that made you dream of the most unholy things possible.

“You remember how I kiss you…down there?” he asked. You hummed, cheeks on fire. “And how I’ve asked you to put your hands on my cock before?”

You did. But it had been brief, only a few pumps and small touches, until he had become too needy. You had been whining so deliciously for him to fuck you and so he had to have you on the spot.

“In the way you touched me then…you could use your mouth on me. Make me come with your perfect lips and sweet hands,” he said. “If that’s what you want, too.”

“I do!” you said with enthusiasm that only an angel at the feasibility of making someone’s day could bring on. “Let’s postpone that shower.”

The pride in his eyes lasted for approximately two seconds before the raw hunger replaced it. He climbed onto the bed and pat his thighs. On command, you settled on his lap. The simple feeling of his bulge under your center, even if interrupted by some fabric, made your head dizzy and your stomach drop. You kneaded your hands, not sure where to touch him first. But just as he always did to you, you had the impulse to start by his head and go lower from there. Although you were on top of him, he looked amused at your shy eyes.

“Can I kiss your neck, like you always kiss mine?” you asked.

“Be my guest,” he said, grinning like he had just won the lottery. Your lips met his skin and you used your tongue the way you had felt him do it. His scent was intoxicating. It made the empty bedsheets you breathed in sometimes, when he left in the middle of the night for his demon antics, seem like nothing. You used your hands to stabilize yourself as you moved lower. The hiss he let out when you felt up on his abs and waistline almost scared you. Then you realized it was a good sign. Only for the blink of an eye you dared to graze your teeth on his skin. His reaction was immediate.

“Shit,” he cussed, “That’s my angel.”

So, he liked that. You couldn’t wait to tease him by biting him in the future. Provoking a demon would have sounded like something close to a death wish to you, had you thought about it months ago. Now, with a demon as tame as they come beneath you, the thought only excited you. As he liked to do, you touched him through his boxers while you continued your journey down his chest and stomach. The guttural moan he released made your head spin and you never wanted him to be quiet. Usually, you weren’t in a mind state to notice his groans, or your own noises were covering his.

“You’re doing so good, little angel,” he said, short of breath. Once again, your effect on him surprised you. Where was the intimidating, big bad demon you had been taunted by?

“I’m gonna fuck you so well for this,” he said, “Even the angels in heaven will hear you scream. Wouldn’t you like that?”

There he was. You pressed your legs together at the simple mention of him inside of you, but if he thought you were going to answer, he’d be waiting endlessly. You still had enough respect for your angels not to think of them in this moment. Nonetheless you hummed weakly. When you got to his hipbone, you hesitated. You drowned out your doubts by kissing him there, while you contemplated what to do next. Your hand was still wrapped around his clothed cock. It was rock hard, and a wet spot had formed on the fabric from how much he needed you. When your touch became softer, and you pulled your hands away slowly, he lifted his hips, not wanting you to stop. You supposed this was the part where you took off his boxers. At least he didn’t complain when you pulled them off his legs, so you assumed you were still on the right track.

Watching his face for signs of approval, your hand wrapped around his length. He almost seemed electrified at your touch. His jaw dropped slightly, and his hooded eyes somehow appeared even darker than usual.

“Just like that,” he said, “And now move your hand up and down.”

So you did. As you regarded your hand around his shaft, all you could think about was how it used to be. How did your hands, that were usually folded neatly in your lap while you looked down on earth, end up doing such ungodly things? And how come you didn’t even for a second feel guilty?

“Angel, you’re so good to me,” he moaned. Angel. That’s what he loved to emphasize. But was that what you were, still? Maybe you would simply stop putting yourself in a box. Perhaps you were just you, doing what you felt was right and would make you happy. And right now, having a demon clench his fists in your hair and saying your name in that tone, you couldn’t think of a lot of incidents that had made you happier. Was this the part where you should use your mouth? You weren’t sure, but your eyes jumped from his cock to his face and it caught his eyes.

“You can take me in your mouth if you want. If you ever feel like stopping, just do so,” he encouraged you, “But remember, no teeth there, okay?”

You grinned and nodded. You parted your lips and your tongue placed kitten licks on the underside of his member. When you reached the top, you took him between your lips, mirroring the motion of your hands around him. You were surprised at how comfortable you were, when ten minutes ago you were ready to personally descend to hell from embarrassment. There was something enticing about the power you possessed in that moment. You understood humans just a little better, once again. Knowing that the way he bucked his hips and his groans were caused by you and only you had you smiling inwardly. It was a way you had never caught yourself smile before. You felt brave, and like you could do anything, with a demon so at your pity.

It didn’t take long for you to figure out where he was most sensitive. Whenever you pressed your tongue against the tip of his cock, he let out a sigh. It was almost like relief, as if he had been waiting for you all his life. And now here you were, granting him all his wishes. You bobbed your head, but kept your attention on his sweet spot, his moans just too delightful not to evoke them on purpose.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he said. Often, you looked up at him. His lids fluttered from the pleasure, but he seemed to like it when you made eye contact. For a moment, you lifted your head, needing some air. Gently, he caressed your face, like you were made of precious porcelain.

“Which one of my dreams did you escape from, little angel?” he asked. You smiled sheepishly, lowering your head. Again, you wrapped your lips around his length. You wondered what he was thinking about. Was his mind as free from any worries as yours whenever he fucked you? Was he able to form any coherent thoughts or was his brain going into the same mental blackout you always experienced?

You continued the way you had, sucking the tip of his cock while your hand pumped him. From time to time, you took a breather and pulled away. Little did you know what you were doing to him. With the short intervals of your lips on him and the pauses in between, you unknowingly made everything more intense for him. It was a dangerous game of edging him you were playing, and you were outright unaware of it.

But why would he have complained? In that moment, you were his personal guardian angel, making sure all his needs were fulfilled. When he saw your lips, all red and puffy, he asked himself where you had been hiding all this time. You peeked up at him through your angel eyes and he felt his entire world become whole in front of him. He was completely and absolutely at your mercy, inebriated by your entire being. Never in his long time on earth had he seen someone so ravishingly beautiful, yet so unaware of their might. He swore to himself in that moment, he’d do anything to make you love him forever.

As divinely as you were treating him, he suddenly wanted you in a different way. And if you continued your sweet actions, he wasn’t sure if that would still be possible. He gently cupped your head, making you look up. You hummed in question.

“You’re doing so well,” he said, “Let me give back to you, won’t you? Does my angel want some attention, too?”

You would have been lying if you said you weren’t practically touch-starved at this moment. And having been taught to always be truthful, you nodded before you even knew it.

“That’s what I thought,” he said, “Why don’t you take off the rest of your clothes?”

When you got up to slip out of your dress, your legs were weak. You hadn’t even done anything, and yet your body felt heavy. All you wanted was to go back to him and have him so close, it felt like he could have been a part of you. As much as you had felt on top of the world minutes ago, his hungry eyes made you shrink inwardly. But it wasn’t out of fear. It was almost admiration, or rather anticipation. You knew he knew your body inside out, and you couldn’t wait for him to prove it to you.

“Come here, angel,” he said. You climbed back onto the bed. “Turn around for me, okay?”

You were on your knees, sitting up right, facing the headboard. His breath on your shoulder sent a shiver down your spine. Then his hands snaked around your body from behind you. A small whimper left your lips when he ran them down your chest, fingers drawing small shapes on your breasts. They continued their way down your stomach and to your parted thighs. The cold air was hitting your dripping core, and had you not had enough self-control, you would have moaned at the mere sensation of his fingertips on the inside of your thigh. But maybe that was just what he was waiting for. After all, he was still taking his time with you. But in this instance, you knew what you wanted, and more importantly when you wanted it.

“Please,” you said. You weren’t sure what to say but starting with a ‘please’ was never a mistake.

“Please what?” he asked. You couldn’t see his face, yet you knew his devilish grin that must’ve been plastered on his face. He never missed a chance to make you shy. “Is this what you want?”

He slid two of his fingers down your slit slowly. It would forever be a mystery to you, how such a simple touch could put you in such a mental state of disarray. You whined at how needy you were, fighting the urge to press your legs together. In a second, his fingers were coated in your juices. When he pressed them against your opening, but didn’t push any further, your head spun with frustration. An impulse yelled at you to grab his hand and show him how you wanted him, but you sensed there was a specific aim in his teasing. Above that, you weren’t close to that brave. Purposely lightly, he rubbed circles onto your clit. Your head fell back onto his shoulder and your breaths came out in little, desperate noises.

Before meeting him, you never knew this sort of inability to control your body. Having power over your motions was an obviousness to you. But as with so many things in life, you had been wrong. Or rather, you had not known better. Now, with his lips brushing over the side of your exposed neck, you were willing to let him do whatever he wanted to do to you. If there was a noise or reaction he wanted to coax out of you, he could do so. And if evoking your little melodic whimper was his aim, he was on the right path, fingers teasing your pussy and flicking over your clit. You knew he wouldn’t hurt you. In fact, he had a head so full of ideas of things you could do together, you doubted you’d ever start to get bored here.

“I want you…inside of me,” you said, surprising yourself. This was your desperate body taking control of your motor speech center, that little region in your brain that allowed you to let out what you wanted to say. Your cheeks were hot for only a moment, then you realized if it got you what you wanted so badly, speaking your mind was probably a fantastic idea. You should really do it more in the future, you thought.

“What my angel wants, my angel gets,” he said. Just for a few seconds, he moved his fingers much faster. You yelped at the sudden pleasure, your hand wrapping around his wrist. His other hand reached for your hand, softly taking it away as you became a whimpering puddle in his arms. You were ready to fall, give in to the pleasure and let go. It was what you so desperately wanted. But as quickly as it had begun, he removed his hands. His attention was gone, and you were left yearning for more.

“Lift your hips,” he said, softly touching your sides. A part of you wanted to cry out, hold him responsible for denying you your sweet release. But you knew it would be no use, and he would tell you to wait either way. You were still on your knees, but straightened up, arms hanging by your sides, waiting for his touch. He was right behind you, his upper body against yours. When you felt his cock run over your slick folds, you sighed at the awaited sensation. The stretch when he filled you up felt so perfect, so out of this world, you reached for his hand to hold on to.

“Why didn’t you ask me earlier if you wanted me so bad?” he asked. He squeezed your hand as his other pulled you flush against his back while he pushed himself further into you. He’d thrust against you for a while, only to pull out completely, and repeat the whole process. It was sending you into complete overdrive.

“Because I wanted to make you feel good,” you said. “Only you, for once.”

You moaned when he snapped his hips against your ass, picking up the pace. In an attempt to support your jittery legs, you grabbed the headboard in front of you. Your breathing came out in short huffs, uneven and a little shaky.

“You’re so sweet and selfless…my patient angel,” he said, his fingers coming in contact with your clit again. His touch was an allure to you, and you wished you could have stayed this way forever. No thoughts, just his body and his dark voice to sedate your mind. “I’ll give you anything you want. You know that, right?”

You hummed and nodded. “Yes. And I’ll do the same for you.” Your words were interrupted by your small whimpers. There had been a time you didn’t know what it felt like, when you didn’t even know there was a such thing of having someone inside of you. Now you couldn’t get enough of him. You were already so sensitive that every time he quickened his thrusts and moved his fingers on you slightly faster, he had you hanging right over the edge. And he could tell by the way you held your breath when you were close. He didn’t want you going there just yet.

“As much as I love your mouth around my dick, this is my favorite way of having you,” he said. He used both of his hands to dig into your sides, pulling your hips closer to him every time he dragged his cock through your walls. You agreed. Should any of your angels ever catch wind of this, they would ban you to earth – or worse, send you to hell. So be it, you thought. You’d be like your lover. One of the creatures of the darkness, thought to be the personification of sin. Even if they ripped your angel title from you, they could never steal away what you had now.

Yes, you were meddling with a demon, but also having the time of your life. It was vastly better than spending your days judging humans for being themselves and for humans living the true way they want to live, instead of abstaining from the simple pleasures of life. Their true colors shown, they weren’t harming anybody, but rather making the world a more acceptable and open-minded place. You aspired to be like them.

“This is my kind of heaven,” he said. It’s what he always called you. Heaven. He groaned when you clenched your walls around him, your inevitable high drawing closer.

“This is my new heaven…you are,” you replied. He chuckled darkly, probably relishing in your confession. The thought that he could make an angel reject the very place they should have belonged filled him with a sense of superiority.

“Look how well you’re taking me,” he said. His hand wrapped around your body, pulling you tighter. He slipped his hand between your legs again, and you almost felt like collapsing, had he not held on to you. On instinct, you closed your eyes and let the feeling crash over you.

“Let me see you come, little angel,” he spoke in your ear, just for you to hear. You would do anything for him. You quivered and buckled at the severity of the feeling, but he had you. Your moans were high and dragged out, as his digits pressed harder onto the sensitive nub on your center.

“Take just a little more for me, can you?” he asked. You obliged willingly, nodding your head while it was still full of nothingness. Even as he kept fucking you, it was pure bliss for another while. It made your legs shake a little, but you felt so safe there, in his embrace, the sensitivity was alright to handle. You could tell by how sloppy his thrusts were becoming that he was almost there, too. He was pressing you against his chest as if you were all he ever wanted. His moans sounded like home to you as he came. He said your name and bent forward, reaching for the headboard, but you both tumbled into the bedsheets together instead. You giggled at your shared clumsiness and you could feel his chest move from laughing as he was lying on top of your back.

“Fuck, that was amazing,” he said, “You’re amazing.”

You turned your head and his lips brushed along your temple, kissing you softly. He brushed a strand of hair out of your eyes so you could look at him. Seeing his beautiful face had you falling into an even deeper state of serenity.

“I want to cuddle,” he said, and it was probably the sweetest thing you had ever heard a demon say. As he rolled off you, you followed his movements and settled in his embrace. A thin sheen of sweat glistened on your skin, but neither of you cared enough to get up just yet.

“I love what you’ve done to me,” you said.

“What is it I have I done to you?” he asked, fingers drawing nonsensical patterns on the side of your bare hips.

“You changed me. But not in a bad way. You let me be who I want to be and showed me that that’s okay,” you said, “You made me understand. Some sins aren’t that sinful at all.”

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pekotranslates · 3 years

Text

Traces of Two Pasts: Episode Tifa - pgs 40-52

Disclaimer: Also, I started this for fun so that my friends who don't have access can read it. I'm just another fan like you. With that said, I do try to be as faithful to the original source material as possible, and for those of you who can read Japanese, please support the author by buying his book.

Not everyone agreed with Chief Zonder's decision. The elderly—a major force in the village—began to make noise. They seemed to take a liking to Zangan's longevity exercises, and regretted not being able to memorize what was taught to them. They wanted someone to check if their poses were correct, and wished to learn the remaining exercises he was supposed to have taught them.

The village chief paid a visit at dinnertime.

"Hey, Tifa..." he said with a sullen expression. "Will you teach the old folks how to do Zangan's exercises properly?"

"Why Tifa?" her father asked. She just knew he would ask.

"Because Zangan named her. Told me that if we ever needed someone to mentor us, Tifa would be qualified. Said that she had the most controlled form* out of everyone who gathered there that day.

Kata, which means “form” in Japanese, is the term used to describe specific sequences of motion that are used to practice technique and execution in martial arts

It pleased her knowing that someone spoke of her like that when not in her presence, but it also caused her to be slightly embarrassed.

"Zonder, don't get my family involved."

"Aw, c'mon! I'm already in big trouble as it is. The old folks just won't let it go!"

"Hmph!" Brian Lockhart snorted. He enjoyed seeing the village chief squirm. She couldn't tell whether or not they actually got along with each other.

"Tifa, what do you think?"

"I'd just be teaching the elderly people those exercises, right? If that's all there is, then I'd like to try."

"Tifa..." her father began, but he swallowed back his complaint. He knew that it wasn't good for her to have too much time on her hands. "Well, if you're gonna do it, then do it right."

While preparing breakfast, Tifa heard a knock at the door, and opened to a woman’s face she barely recognized. It was an elderly woman called "Mon Amie" who was an aunt of sorts to Chief Zonder. Her hair was pulled back into a bun so tight that it looked like her eyes were being pulled straight up!

"Good morning to you. It's been a long time, Tifa. I heard that Zonder told you all about it. How about 2 gil per hour?"

"Sorry?" She had not heard about any renumeration.

"Well, you are thirteen now. Not a little girl anymore, so that doesn't cut it for you, eh? Alright then, how about 4 gil?"

"No, I don't want any money."

"That won't do. We are taking this very seriously, and you will be properly paid for your work."

No matter how much Zangan trusted her, would she really be up to the task? But, being able to earn her own money sounded very appealing, as if a whole new world had opened up to her.

Mon Amie took Tifa's silence as her wanting to bargain for higher wages.

"6 gil."

"Alright. 6 gil it is then."

"Brian never did leave the village. He wanted to keep Thea all to himself." Mon Amie suddenly brought up her parents during their exercise routine at the public square.

"Really?" said Tifa, adjusting Mon Amie's arm posture. She needed to get her to straighten her back and push out her chest a bit more for the desired result.

"She was quite the popular one, that child."

It wasn’t very pleasant hearing her mother being called "that child", yet Tifa encouraged her. Listening to the elderly tell old stories was a part of her job. The responsibility she felt from receiving wages tempered her patience.

"You should leave the village," said Mon Amie suddenly. "Doesn't it sound like fun going around to different places with Master Zangan?"

"It sure does."

"Alright, you don't have to play along with me. No need for you to learn things like that. Just think about it carefully, okay? Something needs to change for women here in Nibelheim."

Tifa silently nodded as she propped up Mon Amie's arm.

"There weren't any women around in my day who held this kind of thinking. But that Strife girl”—she was speaking of Cloud's mother—"tried to leave. Not sure if it's because she hated it here, or if she dreamed of going to the big city."

Mon Amie abruptly altered her pose, ruining her base form.

"To the traditional Nibelheim women, she seemed pretty unconventional. We all refused to accept her ways, but secretly felt the same. Even though we scolded her, deep down inside we were cheering her on. We even felt jealous of her for carving out her own path. Perhaps she changed something in us, little by little.”

Tifa lifted up Mon Amie's knee. "Up high like this. Thank you."

She supported Mon Amie as the woman’s body rocked back and forth.

"But Claudia remained in the village, didn't she?" said Tifa.

"Well, that’s because she fell in love. You see, a man traveled here. Claudia was helping out at the inn at the time. She must have been taken in by the outside air he brought with him. And he was a pretty fellow. I’m sure you see it when you look at Cloud. That boy got the best of both his parents!”

“Right…”

“But, just like the wind, he just couldn’t keep still. Not sure if Cloud learned how to walk yet, but around that time he told her he would go to the mountains, but never came back. They found his belongings though. His body probably got eaten by monsters. You were lucky you didn’t meet the same fate.”

Tifa braced herself. Was she going to bring up that incident?

“Cloud egging you on to climb Mt. Nibel… Maybe that was in his blood.”

Mon Amie’s body began to sway. Tifa had stopped holding onto her causing her to lose her balance. She couldn’t regain her footing in time, and fell flat down on her backside.

“Alright then," said Tifa. "Now let’s use the opposite leg. Please lift up your knee.”

Tifa held out a helping hand to her, but Mon Amie refused and got up on her own.

“Quite strict for a pretty face.”

“That’s because I get paid 6 gil to be.”

Before long, she became more attentive. She noticed Mon Amie lifting up her other knee, but it was at the wrong height again. While Tifa helped her to adjust, Mon Amie said, “You really don’t remember anything? You know, about that accident you got into?”

She was eight years old when she got into that accident on Mt. Nibel. Cloud was with her. The villagers chose to believe the story based on Emilio and the others’ testimonies, and nothing else could be said about it. Tifa really couldn't remember what happened.

"No, unfortunately not..."

Whether the elderly came to her for exercising or just to chat, it was tougher than she had imagined. Her father laughed at her and said he wouldn't have anything to do with them, even for 100 gil.

They never listened and were set in their ways, even the ones who kept away and smiled modestly at her. They just had a different view on things, and sulked if nobody paid them attention.

The topics they discussed also surprised Tifa, and sometimes hurt her too. She disliked whenever they brought up how her body looked so grown. There would be someone who sensed her discomfort or resentment, and would try to change the subject, but then it would turn into whom she should be with and things of that nature.

So, all things considered, Tifa preferred hearing them going on about herself rather than her father’s failed romances, or whom her mother used to hang out with before she got married to him. To the elderly townsfolk, her father and others his age were still “the village youth”.

After her day finished and she was about to go to sleep, she thought to herself that maybe there would be a time when she would be the one telling someone else about what happened today, or about some news she heard from another person. Telling the same stories over and over again, everyday just like the next, until she, herself, became just a relic of an era in village history.

※

“They confused me at first, but I got used to being around them, and then it wasn’t so bad anymore. That feeling of wanting someone to talk to—Everyone has that,” explained Tifa.

“So that’s where you learned to entertain guests? From spending your time talking to old folks?” asked Barret.

“Possibly. Maybe that did me good. More and more of the elderly signed up, and they started calling their morning gatherings the ‘Calisthenics Club’.”

“It’s like that at Seventh Heaven too,” said Barret with some intensity.

Aerith urged him to talk.

“It used to be just a small shop owned by this one gramps, but when Tifa started working there, the business picked up. Men crowded the place. Know what I mean, Red?”

“What I’m more interested in is what happened to Zangan afterward? I can sort of imagine based on your fighting style, Tifa...” said Red XIII.

“You’re right. There was a little more that happened before I got to where I'm at.”

※

A month passed after the start of the Calisthenics Club. All morning Tifa would teach the exercises and set aside time for her reading and arithmetic. The afternoon she'd go to the mountains and work hard towards building up her strength and stamina, and then would return home before sunset so her father wouldn’t worry. At night she would examine Zangan's writings and practice her form, reviewing the materials over and over again so as to not overlook anything.

One day, she received a letter from Emilio. He wrote about the fast-paced lifestyle in the big city, and told her about everything he found perplexing: arguments he had had with people, things he ate, the social inequality, and their differences in moral values.

“But whenever I get discouraged, it’s you I think about, Tifa, and then I imagine that day when I’ll come and get you. I'll write to you sometimes and teach you about the city, so you won't be so confused when that time comes.”

Who do you think you are? That's how she honestly felt reading the letter.

Zangan appeared, acting as if nothing had happened. He knocked on the door just in time to greet her father and asked for his permission to call Tifa out, and then led her to the river where they first met.

“Master Zangan, please let me be your student. I want to be stronger.”

“That’s exactly the answer I was looking for, but what’s the matter, Tifa? I sense your impatience. Why are you in such a hurry?”

“That’s not it!” she replied, but felt self-conscious. “No… It’s because I got that letter from my friend.”

“What kind of letter?”

“I think it’s because I don’t want to lose. I don’t want to lose to anyone who left the village.”

“Hmm. My hand-to-hand combat techniques are not meant to be used to make you feel superior to others.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t. But the answer to that can only be found through diligent study. All right. I will acknowledge you if you pass my test.”

“Test?”

“Show me everything you’ve learned from Volume 1. You’ve been practicing, haven’t you?”

“Yes.”

Tifa performed a sequence of forms from the physical training method.

“One more time, from the beginning.”

“Okay.”

This time Zangan interrupted with instructions.

"Check the book to see the direction your palms should be facing."

Tifa crouched down over the book and flipped through the pages. The form was wrong from the very start. Should have been above not below.

“I was wrong.”

“Try again.”

When she extended both hands and slightly shifted the direction of her palms, she felt a different set of muscles tingling.

“Everything from the Book of Secrets must be obeyed. Don’t try to interpret it another way or decide that your way is better. While disciplining your body, you must learn to be faithful to your decisions. If I take you in as my student, you will become stronger. So, you must cultivate your mind to control that power. The greater and stronger the power to handle, the greater the responsibility of its owner. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

The second time around, Zangan pointed out any minor mistakes she made. Each time she would have to go back and confirm with the Book of Secrets before advancing, which made things take twice as long. Fatigue built up in her arms and legs.

“Alright, now relax and close your eyes. Focus your attention and check the condition of your body. Does it hurt anywhere?”

“My upper back… I wouldn’t say it hurts but it feels like it’s burning...”

She slipped her right hand underneath her left armpit until it touched the lower part of her shoulder blade. Digging her fingers into it felt good.

“Hmph!” Zangan gave a satisfying nod. “That’s your shoulder blade. What you’re pressing into is the trapezius muscle. Surrounding it is your deltoid, infraspinatus, psoas minor and other muscles. The second volume will teach you how to train each one of those muscles on your back,” he said, while holding out a booklet to her. It was Volume 2.

“If you want to live your life with pride then pay close attention to your back. Squeeze your shoulder blades together, chest out. Walking through life with a beautiful posture is also part of your training.”

“Got it.”

“Let’s get started. Well then, onto Volume 2, No. 2-1-1, scapular push-ups.”

Zangan immediately prostrated himself on the ground, and lowered his chest. Tifa hastened to follow his example.

“All you're doing is supporting your whole body with your arms. Concentrate on your shoulder blades. Rotate them outwards—protract, retract, protract.”

It was her first time experiencing those movements. How was she supposed to move to protract her shoulder blades? She couldn’t picture it in her mind. Glancing over at Zangan she noticed he was rotating his shoulders outward, something her cat, Maru, often did.

“You look like a cat,” she said.

“Right. There’s a lot we can learn from cats.”

She focused her attention on her scapula, going up and down, until the repetition of movements were drilled into her body. Zangan rose and watched over Tifa for some time before clearing his throat.

“Good!”

The movements were subtle but still made her perspire.

“That’s because the muscles across your back are wider. Moving them increases the blood flow and raises your temperature, so that’s why you’re working up a sweat.”

After completing Volume 2, Tifa was sweating profusely. She felt unthinkable pain throughout her whole back.

“Alright, any questions? If you do, now’s your chance.”

She wanted to say, yes, but nothing came to mind at the moment.

“If not, then we’ll move onto Volume 3.”

“Huh?” she couldn’t help but shout. Her whole body was screaming in pain. Zangan ignored her and continued.

“Volume 3 is for chest and abs. We’re going to train your front body. The pectoralis major muscle is roughly divided into three parts: upper, middle and lower. There are several different ways to effectively train it, but I’ll teach you the basic concepts.”

“Alright…”

“At your age, your overall motor skills are complete, and in that regard, you excel. You haven’t had any special training, have you? If so, then you must have been born with this. Treasure it.”

“I will.”

She felt energy pour into her body. Perhaps listening to Zangan talk with a relaxed mind helped her to recover from fatigue.

“After a while, we’ll concentrate on building your muscles. But you will not be using any equipment except your body. We won’t be using barbells or dumbbells until you’re much older. Besides, our Zangan-ryu hardly finds them necessary. That is because I prescribe individual fighting styles that suit each of my students. You don’t need arms built like logs or a bulky chest. What you need is to build up a fighting style that will utilize those reflexes, that body, and your speed. Well, what do you want to do? Shall we call it a day?”

“No. Please go on.”

She didn’t want to disappoint the first person who had managed to earn her respect.

“Yes, that’s the spirit! Alright. But we’ll stop here for today. Let’s call this current level of fatigue your limit. Keep it in mind. You have a long way before you can try to challenge that limit to surpass it. Continuity is more important now than ever.”

On their way back, a realization came over Tifa regarding Zangan’s test. It didn't annoy her. If her father tried to make her work like that she’d probably stop talking to him for three days in a row. With those thoughts in mind, she walked her teacher back to the inn.

“Say hello to your father for me.”

As she stood in front of her house she could smell the scent of spices in the air. Spices that her mother liked to use in her best recipe. It was her father’s favorite dish, but since Tifa didn’t really like it, it was hardly ever served at the dining table.

She opened the door and said, “I’m home.”

“Welcome back.” Her father, dressed in an apron, peeked out at her from the kitchen.

“This smell… Huh? Is it mom’s?”

“I was really craving it... Oh, but I made something else for you.”

She was filled with remorse. She didn’t like the way he looked or the tone of voice he used when trying to gauge her mood, but it was all her fault for making it that way.

Novel by Kazushige Nojima

Translated by pekotranslates

Proofread by Eerie

#ffvii #ff7r #tifa lockhart #traces of two pasts #aerith gainsborough

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infernal-fire · 3 years

Text

Love, At First Sight

Warnings: some extreme fluff, strong language/ swearing

Pairing(s): Ransom x you

Summary: Love, at first sight, doesn’t exist. And Ransom has never been proven otherwise.

Word Count: 1600

I was inspired to write this after reading “It Was Only A Kiss” by the Queen of fluff, smut, angst and everything in between: @navybrat817 :)

(This GIF does not belong to me)

Love at first sight.

That is the most ridiculous thing Ransom had ever heard. And he has heard some bullshit.

The only thing he could tell from looking at someone for the first time was whether they were of any use to him or not. So when Meg was rambling on about love, that too, at first sight, Ransom scoffed at the idea. He bit into his overpriced biscuit with a roll of his eyes, pausing the conversation that he was unwilling to entertain any longer.

“You know what Ransom, I’m not surprised you’re dismissing the idea without even hearing it,” Meg challenged.

“Oh yeah? And why’s that?” he retorted, a bit amused by her slight outburst.

“If your parents bothered with you, maybe you would understand what it’s like to be loved by someone.”

Although he didn’t show it, it struck a chord in him. It wasn’t something he dared to complain about anymore, but there was a time he would have done anything for their affection.

“Okay then, let’s hear this horseshit you’re spewing,” he replied, not breaking the façade of smugness.

“When you meet someone, your subconscious and unconscious mind pick up patterns in their behaviour, little mannerisms and anything it can get its hands on. Your conscious mind interprets that as vibes. So you get a bad vibe from someone, it’s ‘cause your mind recognizes it from somewhere else, someone you don’t like.”

“And what does this have to do with love at first sight?” Ransom impatiently tapped his foot.

“I have a theory that love, at first sight, is possible if you’re in tune with your intuition. You feel good vibes from someone, you ride with it. And there’s a possibility you’ll override the rational part of your brain that tells you that you can’t love someone right after meeting them,” she concluded. “But then again, this only works if you’re capable of loving someone. Otherwise, your brain has no one to reference,” she added.

Ransom’s jaw clenched before he took in a breath.

“Like I said. Just a bunch of horseshit,” he said, getting up to leave.

He called it horseshit but he couldn’t stop thinking about it. It irked him that no matter how many girls he pulled, not one of them could make him feel the love had Meg described. He concluded that he was incapable of love because, of course, that was the only plausible explanation.

It was a friend’s birthday. To say the least, he was not looking forward to it. He was in a rare mood to stay home and call it a night instead of getting his dick wet. Unfortunately, his presence was promised - he would rather not hear about this later so he did his future self a favour and got ready.

His black pants were paired with a maroon sweater that cost a little less than his king-sized bed. A rose-gold watch adorned his wrist and he threw on his signature tan coloured coat. He didn’t want to go but he that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t miss out on the opportunity to advertise his status.

Walking into the party, he regretted his decision to come at all. The corners were brimming with drunk people, though it had been only 1 hour since the party started. Shrill and irritating voices rung through the air. As usual, girls of no substance clung to every word of the fabricated tales boys told. Despite this, the unsavoury circumstances invited him, called his name even. After all, this was the lifestyle he lived for.

Taking in the scene before him, he strode down the room. His presence alone demanded respect and attention, both which he got a surplus of at these events.

His stride was abruptly halted when a figure crashed into him, spilling wine down his chest. Sure, it blended in with the sweater, but he was still pissed. Someone didn’t notice him, which caused them to bump into him and that rubbed him the wrong way.

“Won’t you look where your going, for god fucking sake this is worth more than you,” he snapped at the unsuspecting girl.

You had a mess of your own to take care of. Wine slipped down your dress, between your cleavage and onto your stomach. You were going to apologize but you heard his comment, paused your sentence to look up at him.

Laughter echoed in the background and people called Ransom’s name but it was long forgotten when he saw you.

Love, at first sight.

It didn’t seem so ridiculous anymore.

The mere sight of you was a harsh contrast to the cruel world he has dealt with his entire life. It was like the universe wrapped and presented you as the embodiment of a second chance for his life. To think that love, at first sight, was ridiculous.

Your beauty wasn’t something he understood. It wasn’t like the beauty he sought during the lonely hours of night, when he simply required a bedwarmer to ease the ache. It was memorable, almost like a blend of warm vibrancy; a feeling resembling that of the summer’s sun, kissed his skin ever so delicately.

He thought he was dying for a second. His hands were tingly and would not ease up no matter how much he clenched and unclenched them. His heart dove straight to his stomach, refusing to come up for air as long as he continued to look at you.

You on the other hand, you were conflicted. You were going to give him a piece of your mind for talking to you like that but one look at him and you wanted to run away. It was too intense for you.

His piercing stare mirrored the moon, melted and poured into the mould that he called eyes. His aura radiated coldness. Yet, you just knew that his hands would be as warm as a bonfire during a snowstorm. Being around him would be like the slight sting that you felt when winter’s breeze grazed your skin. That sting, no matter how painful, is rewarding when you consider his arms that would envelope you as a blanket.

Momentarily looking into each others eyes, both of you knew. You just knew. You were both thinking the same thing. It felt like eons had passed since the wine spill but logically, you knew it had only been seconds.

“Don’t talk to me like that” you finally blurted. No matter how enamored you were with him, you needed to knock him down a few pegs.

“I-I… I’m”

“You’re?” you raised an eyebrow at him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…” he stuttered. He felt like he would never recover from this embarrassment.

“I-uhm. It’s okay. I just…” you trailed off, realizing you weren’t even sure what to say.

“Can we get out of here?” he piped up.

It took you by surprise because you were thinking the same thing. You considered it too bold a thing to say but here he was.

You held his wrist and led him out. As soon as you marched out the door, he pulled his arm up, and you assumed he was going to take it out of your grasp. He surprised you though, instead, holding your hand.

The dress and the sweater became irrelevant; all either of you could focus on was the warm grip you both had on each other’s hands as you strolled through the overly extravagant neighbourhood.

Part of your mind was screaming at yourself, as was his. He could kill you, you thought. Or do worse. And here you are, walking with a complete stranger through a neighbourhood you don’t even know.

“I thought you felt it too,” he confessed. “That’s why I... really, I don’t ever do this.”

The old Ransom would have said ‘I know you felt it too.’ It hadn’t been ten minutes since you met him and you were already changing him.

“I've never done this either. I mean frankly, you could be a murderer and here I am, holding you hand,” you joked.

“I’m not a murderer,” he chuckled, “But I can’t help but feel a little weird about this.” You looked up at the moon-less night, convinced that it wasn’t a coincidence.

“I know… I-... I don’t even know your name,” you giggled and his heart fluttered around his chest. He couldn’t compare the feeling to butterflies - it was more like hummingbirds, refusing to settle.

“I felt something and it’s weird ‘cause I was so scared. I was scared and overwhelmed by this sort of dread. Dread that was like, what if you didn’t feel the same way?” you rambled, only slightly cautiously. You knew nothing of this man, and you were laying out how you felt in the open?

“My name is Ransom,” he stopped the stroll and faced you, picking up your other arm.

“Y/N” you meekly responded, having difficulty meeting his eyes. You had never felt such a burn in your cheeks, yet right now, you felt like your face was on fire.

“Hey, hey” he softly tilted you chin up. “Can we run with this? Whatever this is?” He would get on his knees and plead if he had to. Because you were right; he felt like he would die if you didn’t feel the same way.

“Please. Let’s run with this. Whatever this is, let’s just run with it,” you agreed and nodded lightly, not breaking out of the stare.

“What is this?” he uttered under his breath and rested his forehead onto yours.

You closed your eyes and breathed in the same air as him. His warmth and scent reminded you of sugar cookies and pine trees.

He took in a breath and felt the aroma of vanilla and fresh roses evade his senses.

“I don’t know. But I like it,” you breathed.

He cupped your face and pulled away to look at your face again. He planted a delicate but firm kiss to your forehead as you encased his waist with your arms, naturally gravitating towards him. He tenderly held your face as he pulled away. One look and you were a goner, but now, you’re utterly floored by the mere thought of him.

Love, that too, at first sight.

Wasn’t horseshit after all.

Masterlist

Tag list: @partiesandblurrypolaroids

Other: @mculibrary

Shoot me a message or fill out the form in my bio to be added to my tag list!

#ransom #ransom drysdale #knives out #ransom x you #ransom x reader #ransom x y/n #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale x y/n #fluff #fic #fic rec

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theredsuzuran · 3 years

Text

Douma x reader - Innocence

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Took me a long time to upload a new content am so sorry for the delay I was really busy with school assignments therefore I cannot manage the time to write. I apologize in advance for any grammatical errors on my behalf, I hope you enjoy.

Warning : Dark themes like gore, blood and violence, degradation and swearing, mature content.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The moon shone brightly above the sky as it's light leak through the branches illuminating the famous building of the eternal paradise cult. A new set of followers rushed into the dwelling in hopes of fulfilling their selfish desires, diminishing their agonies and enriching their possessions. However a particular human with her tattered kimono seem not to be interested to convey anything although the people around her would die to witness even a glimpse of the charismatic leader as for now she was busy running along the wide long corridors

The sound of thumping footsteps echoed throughout the building as a herd of followers attempted on catching the miscreant who disrupted the peaceful atmosphere prevailing over the supreme cult. The already annoyed and frustrated people were all worked up to catch the energetic human who on the other hand have thoughts of escaping this place they called paradise. If only she was careful enough to notice her mother's strange behavior soon as they entered the place but how can you possibly blame an innocent little girl like her, or so she thought. Afraid she might lose sight of her treacherous mother who abandoned her just moments ago she desparety stumbled her way out although that didn't concerned her simple thinking process but that's exactly how complicated the situation was.

Turning one last time to look behind if those weird people were still following her or not when suddenly she bumped into a Tall muscular figure standing infront of her soft delicate frame she must have missed him approaching while focusing on looking behind. "Please just leave me alone!" The girl fumed coherently still overwhelmed by the amount of people rushing towards her like waves something that she was not accustomed with as for eighteen years she lived indoors interacting rarely with anyone and playing with dolls most of the time.

"Watch your tongue brat" one of the men standing beside the tall man spoke with disgust hinted in his voice. "Crouch down you insolent woman, where's your gratitude it's because of lord Douma's benevolence that you are still here or you'd be rotting in the street thanks to your mother", the people around her started whispering and murmuring behind her back but she was not bother since her senses were filled with newfound wrath how dare they insult your angel like mother? No longer able to contain your anger you shouted with tears "Then take me to my mother, I don't want to stay here alone".

"Your mother abandoned you here so shut up and deal with it, now move your way for master" the man grunted irritatedly motioning the other followers to grab her and take her away.

"No don't touch me" she wiggled under their grip rushing towards douma blocking him from entering the room by grabbing his arm tightly "I am not going anywhere until I know where my mother is" she cried loudly making the demon flinch with surprise, how pitiful the creature looked in his polychromatic eyes. He have seen many humans crying before him for obvious reasons which honestly have become his monotonous routine but somehow this girl acted quite weird being her age, interesting him enough to investigate. As he was about to speak the man beside him pushed the girl hashly making her lose her balance and fall on the wooden floor.

"How dare you touch master with your filthy hands bitch" he lift his hand to slap her tight in the face but someone grabbed his wrist just in time to save the girl from further humiliation.

"Silence" all the questioning glances, judging looks and whispering stopped at once as douma spoke nonchalantly making the latter shiver in regret.

"I am sorry douma sama" the man uttered in pure horror having no intentions to displease his beloved lord. "I was-"

"I don't want to see that happen again, understood?" He replied coldly still maintaining his wide smile as the previous chaos shifted into complete hush. The man lowered his head down with shame nodding silently. Douma averted his attention and glanced at the figure underneath making the girl jolt a bit but his once frightening demeanor changed into a cheerful and optimistic one in matter of second upon seeing her.

"Please take her to my chamber and treat her wounds" the man clapped with a wide grin plastered on his face. A group of female servants came rushing to help picking her up. The girl being too bewildered did not protested and simply follow his tone as if she was hypnotized by his neatly decorated persona.

The girl was immediately taken away without delay and as per douma he needed to attend his cult duties. First of all she was washed and changed into a beautiful kimono as soon as she stepped inside, then she was escorted into a room filled with antiques and lavish items which she have never seen. Her face lit up with fascination as she began venturing those decorative pieces.

"Looks like you have ease down a bit, good good" A familiar tone struck in her ears startling her a bit only to turn back and view the handsome cult leader although it was a bit strange because she did not heard anyone approaching.

"Aww did I scared you?" He laughed covering his face with golden fans.

"No I was just- you came in without a warning, I was taken aback" she explained blushing trying her best not to act immature to which douma laughed uncontrollably as he found this human's expression adorable say entertaining in his words.

"D-dont laugh at me" she pouted crossing her arms in the attempt.

"I am sorry (y/n), you really amuse me" he replied still grinning. However there was a moment of awkward silence between them as he uttered her name abruptly.

"I didn't tell you my name.." after a long pause she replied to him with a confuse look in her face.

"I know everyone's name who are living under my supervision including yours besides what kind of cult leader I am if I don't have basic information about my fellow followers. Oh look I have been talking to you without giving the chance to let you talk my bad" he laughed again waving his fans creating another awkward situation. Causing you to sweatdrop on his remark.

"Say (y/n) how old are you?" to which she replied enthusiastically "I am 8 years old and will turn 9 soon"

"Ah you don't look like one" douma grinned closing his eyes in the process.

"Yeah I get that a lot" she remarked shyly.

"Your mother is one of my followers" he continued

"Really?" her eyes sparked with hope as she approached douma with anticipation grabbing his arms for the second time starling him, she really like holding hands eh? he have experiences like that but somehow this girl made him feel different so he allowed her but then she stopped halfway through her words "I really miss her it's been a week since she left me here" her voice dropped with sadness.

Douma felt no sympathy for humans or anything as such, he have learned to fake his emotions from a very tender age eversince he was born to the extent that even seeing his mother killing her husband mercilessly failed to evoke feelings within. He clearly did not understand what she was feeling he just stared at her with a blank expression only to replace it quickly with a grim look even faking few tears. "(Y/n) chan you know its okay you will still have me" he patted the girl in an attempt to comfort her.

"Friends?" (Y/n) replied between her tears.

"If that's how you want us to be" douma smiled at her gently shocking himself for a second because he didn't think of smiling?

Things escalated soon after that incident, (y/n) was a kind and compassionate person from inside and out and in not time the cult followers started loving her presence. As often douma would let her accompany him and most of the time she stayed by his side following him everywhere and he didn't mind that at all moreover he appreciated her company. (Y/n) was like a fresh bud to him who depicted innocence and purity he loved spoiling her with expensive gifts yet she never showed signs of greediness and genuinely appreciated his thoughtfulness slowly forgetting the past life she was in and cherishing her friendship with douma. At first she was reluctant and didn't like getting so much attention but in the course of time she bonded better with everyone and was quite content with the life she was leading. As for douma he began to depend on (y/n) to the point that not seeing her face for even one day would make him go insane and he didn't understand why not like he want to because all he cared about was how she made him feel so many varieties of pleasant emotions he wish he could feel. Eating her was out of context.

However all good things must come to an end for he is someone to not rest in peace after the sin he have committed for centuries. Seeing douma paying her more attention, spoiling her with a ravish lifestyle and even letting her stay by his side all the time made some of his cult members terribly envious they wanted to punish her for taking their chances of stealing the spotlight. There was this one room that he forbade his followers to enter for obvious reasons and specifically for (y/n) because he didn't want to repeat the same mistake. This was exactly what they wanted (y/n) to do break the rules and Douma's trust. Like that there would be no more favouritism on her with others.

"Ah (y/n), there you are" one of the female member approached her one fine morning.

"Yes how may I help you?" She asked cheerfully

"Lord douma have asked for your presence in the forbidden room tonight and he said its urgent"

"Aren't we all prohibited to go inside"

"Oh (y/n) it's true master have arrived today and he wants your presence"

Upon hearing that news her heart elated with happiness, it has been two weeks since he last saw douma around and she missed him but something felt off about the whole situation douma always sees (y/n) first before tending his followers then why did he not come meet her did he not miss her like she did?

She was lost in her thoughts until she found two hands waving and snapping infort of her face.

"Don't be late, okay?" With that said the female hurried back into other room leaving (y/n) behind even though the situation seem kinda odd maybe douma was busy afterall.

At night (y/n) went into the restricted area. She stood infront of the shoji door in absolute dilemma debating whether or not to enter the room or go back. There was her desire of meeting douma on one hand and not breaking his trust by entering the room on the other. In the end she decided not to but as she was turning back she heard someone grunting in pain behind the closed doors being a compassionate person, she decided to open the door and enter into the darkness adjusting her eyes in the process, a pungent smell hit her nostrils making her cover her mouth and to her absolute terror the scene infront of her made her puke in disgust.

A pile of Mutilated bodies, mostly women laid around lifelessly on the blood stained tatami mattress. Many having no limbs, some headless and organs missing from their body as if someone had ate all of that. The whole room was a mess full of unfortunate people. She felt sick and began crawling down her way back from the corpses. However she felt a tight grip on her left foot upon looking down she witness the sight of a woman her intestines oozing out of her stomach begging for help. (Y/n) stood there perplexed unable to say anything chocking through tears.

"I told you not to come here, why?" (Y/n) turned her head violently to see douma standing in a distance his countenance cold and sinister evident that he was highly displeased upon seeing his innocent flower disobeying his instructions.

"It's not... like... what you see" (y/n) cried fearfully but douma didn't seem to buy it well in a blink of an eye she found herself in Douma's arms as he aggressively dragged her out of the room.

"What's going on douma" no word came out from the usual lively douma.

"It's hurting me your grip" no reply again to which she forcefully tried to stand still with all her strength. This time douma stopped his features hidden under his bangs making her unable to figure the expression he was carrying.

"Is this why douma forbade us to enter the room" no reply

"Are you responsible for murdering those innocent people?" No reply

"DOUMA" she shouted

"Why you want to join them?" Douma finally looked at her his eyes glowing dangerously proving his existence to be something unnatural. (Y/n's) eyes widen at his remarks as tears rolled down her visage.

"I hate you.." she murmured

"What?" He tilted his head letting his guard down a bit at her hurtful comments.

"I HATE YOU" she pushed douma roughly and flew from the place running deep into the forest for she knew who he was and what he is capable of doing. Tearing down she constantly reminisce the moments she shared but she cannot allow herself to sympathize his heinous crimes. Why is it that the people I love are always taken away from me? She thought. Exhausted from running she halted in order to catch her breath while glancing back to see if he was following, there was no one indeed so a sudden feeling of relief gushed in her body. However turning her head back she saw him standing inches apart from her face which made her shiver and fall onto the knees.

"Why are you running away from me (y/n)" he said apatheticly his head lowered at her level. She did not reply and stayed quite.

"Is it true that you don't love me after all the things I did for you?" Covering his face with one hand his eyes glowing under the moonlight a look of dejection written on his face. There was complete silence in the forest except the sound of rustling trees.

"Answer me" holding her face now firmly he growled making her flinch under his breath. In one last desperate attempt (y/n) tried to stab douma with a tree branch she found laying on the ground but unfortunately douma was faster and easily dodged the attack and in a swift motion he hit her with immense strength causing her fragile little body to tremble in pain as she coughed mucus mixed with blood.

"How foolish of you" he crouched down her height staring intensely at the quivering figure of the miserable girl. As for (y/n) her body ached but more was the tightness in the chest that she was experiencing in the moment.

He pulled her by the hair roughly making her scream in pain although at this point all she could manage with her cracking voice were inaudible screams.

"Why did you disobey me? (Y/n)..." who knew beneath that friendly kind face was hiding a undeniably deadly and calculative demon and at this point it was clear for her that he was anything but human.

"Who are you?" these few words manage to escape from her shaky lips in between low grunts.

"I am the leader of the eternal paradise cult"

"Wrong" to which he tightened his grip making her shriek again.

"You humans are so dumb believing in the existence of primordial deities where in reality its just a myth, a fairytale, created for pleasuring the sufferings of mere human. Being superior than you mortals I wanted to make these pitiful existence happy and that's why I was born and what you saw there" his lips curved into a cheeky smile revealing his deadly fangs creeping the shit out of the already scared girl. "I eat them so that they can always be with me and attain salvation" a sinister laughter escape from his mouth as he covered it with his golden fans. (Y/n) unable to process the new sets of information knots formed in her stomach making her sick in the guts.

"I ate your mother too, oh she was ungrateful after all the things I did to her just like you" protruding her eyes with pure shock she felt her veins popping out and blood boiling in pure rage.

"You are a monster, you think your stupid morals would persuade people to think like you do, I despise you douma I thought we were friends and you took away the one I cherished the most?"

"You think your mother loved you?" Douma snapped. The duality of this was man was insane, all the things he does or says are plastic.

"She never cared for your life, you want to know why? I will tell you since you insist" douma dragged her out of forest holding a fistful of her hair tightly inflicting great discomfort to the girl while he continued with his harsh statements and deliberate insults.

"You were just a burden, behaving like a fucking child with the alluring body of yours"

"No my mother promised me..she would protect me.. you are lying"

"While you were crying everyday inside my shrine that lowly woman enjoyed her life indulging in adultery with various cult members leaving her sick husband and mentally retarded daughter in the dark" every word he uttered spread vemon into her ears.

"Still she wanted more and more and more, what a greedy whore" douma continued.

"Do you know how much difficult it was for me to control myself around you? While you sway your hips and act innocently making those hungry men lust over you, how much dumb can you be?"

"What do you mean I don't understand.. douma"

"I did everything I can for you yet you remain ungrateful, disrespectful? Well guess its runs in your blood and I thought you are innocent but it turns out that you are just like the rest of them, naive"

Her eyes widened with every hurtful remarks he made about her and she did not understand why she felt that way shouldn't she be resentful towards him for killing her beloved mother but here she is weeping constantly because douma was treating her like he never did before.

"But that's fine (y/n) I can not bring myself to hurt you I love you and we shall always be together whether you like it or not" nothing reached in her ears anymore as her body grew numb. Her eyes shut as she carried the unbearable pain in her heart slowly loosing consciousness and remaining sanity.

It would have been easier if she died but alas a mere human like her is doomed at his mercy.

#douma #douma kny #douma x reader #kny x reader #kny douma #demon slayer #fanfic #kimetsu no yaiba #upper moons #upper moon 2

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mydogisveryadorbs · 4 years

Text

stood up | jj maybank

summary: jj rescues you from being stood up

warnings: slight cursing, mentions of smut (if you squint), tiny bit of angst, tooth rotting fluff, rafe being a prick, jj being a soft angel

masterlist :)

(gif credit to the owner)

2.3k+ words

✰⋆✰⋆✰⋆✰

It's gotten to the point where you are actually twiddling your thumbs to entertain yourself while you wait. Gnawing on your bottom lip, you glance at the analog clock on the diner wall.

Your waitress, who you've learned over the last five times she's checked on you is named Cathy, walks toward your table again. “You sure I can't get you anything while you wait, sweetheart?” Cathy asks, holding her notepad in one hand and a pen in the other, ready to take any order you give her. She seems like a sweet older woman, maybe in her mid-60s, but you can't help but be annoyed at her for continuing to come to your table. You know it's her job, but doesn't she realize that you're probably not going to change your mind about ordering no matter how many times she comes back.

You feel your face warm as blush blooms across your cheeks and you shake your head. “He should be here any minute,” you tell her in an attempt to be convincing, however, the waiver in your voice giving away your true feelings.

You had been sitting in this booth for just under an hour and a half waiting for your date. To say you were shocked when Rafe Cameron had abruptly asked you on a date last week would be an understatement. The two of you had barely spoken to each other and before that, you didn't even know that he knew your name.

Pulling up the text conversation between the two of you, you check again to make sure that you got the time and date right, even though you've looked seven other times already. Much to your dismay, the text still hasn't changed.

Meet me at Joe’s Diner on

Friday night at 7.

“I'll just grab you another Dr. Pepper,” Cathy says, giving you a look of pity as she takes away your empty glass.

You lick your lips. “Actually, I'll just take a water,” you tell her, knowing that the more sugary, caffeinated soda you drink the more anxious you will become.

Cathy nods. Walking off to another table.

Did he really stand you up?

Sure you were aware of the fact that Rafe Cameron had a reputation of sleeping with a lot of girls, but would he really stoop this low? It's true that you weren't very well known at the kook academy. You made pretty good grades and ran for the cross country team, but for the most part, you went unnoticed at school. Maybe you should have realized that a guy like Rafe Cameron would never actually want to go on a date with a girl like you.

Your stomach turned in your belly and you debated calling your older sister to come to pick you up. Looking around, you noticed most of the people in the diner were giving you sympathetic looks, obviously understanding that you had been stood up.

This might as well go down as the most embarrassing moment in your life.

Gulping, you shuffle your feet under the table preparing yourself to make a fast exit out of the diner. You are taking one last deep breath when someone plops down in the seat across from you.

You quickly look up and your eyes meet none other than JJ Maybank. The infamous pogue and weed supplier of almost every teen on the island.

“Hey,” the blonde boy says to you with a smile, picking up his menu. “Sorry, I'm late. The traffic is insane right now.”

You continue to stare up at him in bewilderment, completely confused about what is going on.

He leans forward slightly and you do the same. “I'm JJ. Just go with it, yeah?” he says in a whisper. “Whoever didn't bother to show up is a dick,” JJ adds, sitting back in his seat as his eyes roam the small menu in his hands.

Your eyes widen in realization and you look around to see that no one is staring at your table anymore. You open your mouth to tell him he doesn't have to do this for you when Cathy returns, notepad open and pen at the ready.

“Finally,” she says under her breath, but still loud enough that both you and JJ are able to hear her. “What can I get for you two?” Cathy asks.

“We'll have two cheeseburgers and two orders of fries,” JJ says in a cheery tone. “Oh and two chocolate shakes,” he adds after a second, handing off both of our menus to Cathy.

You look at him again, mouth gaping open like a fish, but no words find their way out. JJ just smiles at you, softly patting your hand which is resting on the table in front of you.

Cathy finishes writing down your orders and looks up, eyes moving between the two of you in suspicion. “Will that be on one check or two,” she asks, her voice slightly monotone.

“One.” “Two.”

JJ and you speak at the same time. Your eyes move to his and you stare each other down.

“One check, please,” JJ says without looking away from you.

“That'll be right out,” Cathy says, quickly scurrying away from the two of you.

Unable to stand the continuous eye contact with the cerulean eyed boy, you glance down at the napkin in your lap. “You don't have to stay here, you know?” you say to him, not looking up. “I'm fine on my own.”

JJ shrugs. “As far as I'm concerned, I just scored myself a date with a really pretty girl,” he says as if it's no big deal that he just saved you from the embarrassment of the century. “Speaking of which, I didn't catch your name.”

You look back up at him and JJ offers you a small smile. A curl from his mess of blonde locks has fallen on to his forehead and you have an indescribable urge to reach across the table and move it to the side. You've heard a lot about JJ Maybank and his player ways over the years, but being this close to him for the first time you finally understand why all the kook girls are so obsessed with him. He's gorgeous; tall, tan, and toned. The three T’s.

But in the past few minutes, you've decided that there is an even more prominent quality that attracts guys and girls alike in figure eight. It's his pogueness. That's the best word you can come up with to describe the combination of his fashion sense, lifestyle, and aura. Everything about him is everything that kook teens are not. They do say that opposites attract.

“I'm (Y/N),” you say, reaching your hand out across the table for him to shake. It's the first time you've spoken directly to him and JJ is bewildered. Your voice is confident and yet it has a softness to it and JJ can tell from the small interaction that despite the fact that you conform to peer pressure, you have a strong will.

After a moment of silence, you speak up again. “Seriously,” you tell him, sincerely, “You don't have to stay here with me.”

“Seriously,” JJ says, slightly mocking you. “I want to,” his tone is so honest that it makes you really want to believe him. “In fact,” he adds, his eyes brightening with an idea, “Let's make it official.”

You give the blonde boy a confused expression so he continues. “(Y/N)- wait what is your last name,” he asks quickly and you tell him. He clears his throat, pulling one of your hands into his two big ones. “(Y/N)(Y/L/N), will you do me the honor of going on a date with me.”

For a moment you are distracted, looking at how he is holding your hand, but you snap out of it, looking up at him.

You just got stood up by the wealthiest and most attractive guy in figure eight, who by the way has nothing on the blonde boy in front of you. How are you supposed to believe that JJ actually wants to go on a date with you?

You think about the fact that he practically saved you and how he's been nothing but sweet since he got here.

“Sure, JJ Maybank,” you say with a smile.

JJ’s brows furrow and he smirks. “You know me,” he asks, but it's more of a statement. It is your turn to look at him in confusion so he explains. “I never told you my last name.”

You blush, hard, knowing that you were caught. Trying to play it off, you shrug. “Everyone on this island knows who JJ Maybank is.” The blonde boy’s smirk only grows at your statement.

“So I've got a reputation,” he asks cheekily.

You nod your head, playing along. “Oh, yeah. A big one,” you tell him, a big smile growing on your face.

“Hmm, let me guess,” JJ says, leaning forward in his seat. “You've heard all about how I'm a weed-smoking party boy who goes home with a different girl every night?” You nod, the smile never leaving your face. “Well, I guess I have some work to do to show you I'm actually a decent guy huh?”

The boy almost pouts at his words and you can't help but let out a small giggle. JJ smiles wide, thinking that your laugh has to be the cutest thing he's ever heard.

You open your mouth to give him a snarky response, but before you can, Cathy walks to your table with your orders. Your jaw drops and your mouth waters at the sight of the large cheeseburger in front of you.

JJ laughs at your reaction. “I probably should have asked if you eat meat,” he says. “But judging by your reaction you do,” he adds with a laugh.

You blush at his comment as the two of you dive into your burgers and fries. As the night goes on you learn that you have more in common with the blonde boy than you ever thought possible. You share a very similar taste in music and you bond over your love of the ocean.

You are in the middle of ranting about your adoration of sea animals and how you would love to study them one day when you notice JJ staring at you with an unreadable expression.

“What?” you ask, feeling self-conscious under his gaze. Do you have food on your face or something?

JJ shakes his head with a smile, resting his chin on the palm of his head. “Nothing,” he says, tilting his head slightly. “You're just really beautiful.”

You know that your face is tomato red at his comment. Pulling your hands up, you cover your face with them in an attempt to hide your blush. JJ tugs at your arms, gently pulling them away from your face. “Hey, don't hide,” he says with a small giggle. “Your blush is adorable.”

A few minutes later when your embarrassment has simmered and your face is back to its normal color, you look up at JJ, copying his actions from earlier and resting your head on your palm.

“You're way different than I expected, JJ,” you tell him with a small sigh.

JJ smiles. “Is that a good thing?” he asks, his smile not faltering.

“Good,” you say, simply.

“Good,” JJ says, smiling wide.

When the check comes you offer to pay half but the boy refuses. “At least let me pay the tip, JJ,” you plead, moving to pull some bills out of your wallet.

JJ puts a hand on yours, stopping you. “Next time,” he says and you comply out of shock from his words. He wants a next time?

Cathy wishes the two of you a good night and you glance down at your phone noticing it was a little past 11 meaning that you and JJ had been together for almost two hours.

JJ walks you home like a true gentleman and the two of you stop in front of your door. He grabs both of your hands in his, looking down at your shoes and back up to your face.

“So, I know this was kind of unconventional,” he says, voice slightly waiving with nerves, “But maybe you'd want to go on a real first date with me sometime.”

He scratches the back of his neck, not meeting your eyes, and a big smile makes its way to your lips.

“I'd love to, JJ,” you say, tugging his hand so he looks back at you. JJ has a smile that matches yours and his eyes flicker down to your lips before coming back up to meet your eyes.

You bite your lip. “If you don't stop me right now, I'm gonna kiss you,” JJ says seriously.

You look down before looking up at him confidently. “What if I don't want to stop you,” you say, not breaking eye contact with his cerulean eyes.

JJ wastes no time in pressing his lips to yours. His hand reaches up to cup your jaw, the other gripping your waist as his lips work against yours. You let your arms snake around his neck as you deepen the kiss. Pulling away, the two of you breathe heavily.

JJ touches his forehead to yours, pressing a small kiss to your nose.

“You gonna invite me in?” he asks, only half-joking.

You let out a breathy laugh. “Not a chance, Maybank,” you say and he pouts.

“One more kiss,” he asks, giving you his best puppy dog eyes.

You laugh pressing a quick peck to his soft, pink lips before slipping out of JJ’s arms. He lets out a dramatic groan.

“Pick me up tomorrow at 6,” you tell him confidently before you open your door. Looking back you see him nodding profusely so you walk inside, shutting the door softly behind you.

Leaning your back against the door, you can't help the grin that makes its way to your lips.

Your sister spots you as she walks downstairs. “Hey, (Y/N/N),” she says with a smirk. “You're home late. I take it the date went well.”

“Yeah, really well.”

✰⋆✰⋆✰⋆✰

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winchester-purgatory · 3 years

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My brother’s best friend | Dean Winchester (part 1)

Summary: Dean visits his brother in Palo Alto...and fall for the redhead crashing in Sam’s bed

Word count: 1.8k

Palo Alto, California 2004

''Are you kidding me?'' Sam grumbled as he checked through the peephole of his small apartment, seeing his big brother on the other side.

It was rare - very, very rare - that Dean would visit him. He'd rather vagabond from states to states in his precious Impala than visit his little brother who was in college, getting a degree, aka doing something of his life.

The only times he'd visit was if something happened to their dad - or when he needed something. Nine times out of ten, it was the latter.

Although they had been raised by the same man, the two brothers were very different. Their lifestyle, by example, was polar opposite. Sam was pursuing law studies and planned on become a criminal lawyer while Dean prefered to jump from states to states - or, in Sam's words, from bed to bed - without ever settling. He was also a walking trouble, always getting himself tangled in some messy crap.

When they were kids, their uncle Bobby used to joke and said that Sam would help Dean get out of jail one day. He couldn't be closer to the truth.

Reluctantly, Sam unlocked and opened the door, skipping the greetings. ''What are you doing here?'' he hissed at his brother, keeping the door as closed as possible - and blocked - so Dean wouldn't peek inside or simply invite himself in.

''Hello to you too, Sammy.''

''What do you want?'' Sam demanded.

''Who said I needed something? Can't I miss my little brother?''

If Sam hadn't known his brother so well, he would've believed him. But, this was Dean.

''It's almost midnight and I have class at eight, Dean. I don't have time for placotage. What is it this time? Your girlfriend dumped you? You're out of money? Whichever, I can't do anything. I'm just as broke as you.''

He wasn't always this intolerant, but school had been stressful these past weeks and the younger Winchester was running on short nights and large coffees from all his hard studying. Therefore, he wasn't in the mood to deal with Dean's bullshit.

Dean rolled his eyes. ''I'm not here for money. I just need a place to crash. I was at this car expo with some guys from the auto shop I work at and, instead of spending a handful on a shitty motel, I thought of you and your old couch.''

Auto shop? Last time they spoke, he was working night shifts at a 7/11. That's an upgrade, Sam noted.

''Nice of you to think of me, but you can't stay here. I...I sold the couch. And, I have to study for-''

I sold the couch? Try again Sammy.

Not letting the brunet finish, Dean ignored him and pushed the door wider, walking in as if it was his place.

He glanced around the small apartement, the office lamp on the desk creating a dim light throughout the whole place. Like Dean remembered, the appartement was cramped. You could barely fit any furnitures beside a couch, a desk and a bed. It was a college student appartement, you can't expect too much. He immediately remarked the laptop set up on the desk with a pile of papers ant textbooks, mimicking the same set up Sam had in his old bedroom.

''Dean, I said-''

Panic rose inside Sam, whirling around and trying to push the blond out of his apartment, but it was too late. He had seen her. The fire haired girl sleeping peacefully in Sam's bed.

A smirk formed on the older's lips, turning his head in Sam's direction. ''Is that what you were trying to hide from me? From Dad? That you had a girlfriend? Oh Sammy. Always been shy about that stuff...''

Sam closed the door and sighed. ''She's not my girlfriend. And, keep it down, will you?''

Dean cocked an eyebrow. ''Why is she sleeping in your bed then, uh?'' He shook his head, smirking, convinced that he had demasked his brother. ''You know, Sammy, you've never been the master liar between the two of us. Is that why you ignored Dad's calls? Because you were too busy-''

''Dean,'' Sam hissed, narrowing his eyes in warning, not letting him time to finish his sentence.

He knew how filter-less his brother was and, even though the redhead was sleeping soundly, Sam would rather not risk her waking up to some dude she didn't know was insinuating events that never happened between she and Sam. That would be creepy and awkward.

Dean rolled his eyes. ''Right. I forgot how much of a prude you are.''

''She's a friend,'' Sam insisted, sighing with tiredness. ''She got into a bad argument with her boyfriend and needed a safe place to stay.''

''And you're trying to make me believe nothing happened under the sheets?'' Dean sank into Sam's couch and shook his head disapprovingly. ''You're such a let down, Sammy... How can you let a hot girl crash in your bed and pass the opportunity for a good time?''

''Because, unlike you, I think with my brain instead of my dick. She needed a roof, Dean, not a new dick.''

Dean smirked. ''Look where that got you.''

Like always, Dean got what he wanted and crashed at Sam's.

Well, he 'accidently' fell asleep on the couch while his brother was studying, giving Sam no choice but to let him sleep after trying times and times to wake him unsuccessfully.

The sound of glass clashing and shattering pulled Dean from his sleep. He sat up, a bit startled by the noise, and squinted his eyes at the harsh morning light shining straight in his eyes. Does Sam not have blinds or something?

''Shit,'' slipped a feminine voice.

Dean rubbed his eyes, adjusting to the change of light and glanced around, catching the redhead from last night standing at the 'kitchen' area of Sam's appartement. She was wearing one of Sam's old tee shirt, her long hair cascading down her back. Dean bit down him bottom lip.

''Everything okay?'' he asked, trying to see what happened.

''Yes!'' responded a feminine voice. ''I just dropped and broke a plate. It's nothing.'' She bent down to clean her mess, using a towel to pick up the broken pieces.

Humming, Dean stretched his arms over his head, his back aching from Sam's raggedy couch, and stood. He should get a new one, this one sucks.

''Sorry for waking you,'' she apologized, running a hand through her hair, tucking a piece behind her ear in slight embarassement. ''I was trying to make coffee and...I don't know how it happened.''

''Apologies accepted if you tell me there's coffee left,'' Dean bargained with a sly grin.

The redhead stood and nodded at the coffee machine before throwing the broken pieces of plate in the trash. ''Lucky for you, there's enough left for a cup.''

Picking up a cup from Sam's perfectly neat cupboard, the blond poured the last of coffee, not bothering to rinse the empty carafe. Sam will get on his back about it next time he'll use it, but it's not like Dean cared.

''I'm Juliet,'' the girl introduced, taking a seat in the desk chair as there wasn't any barstools or dinning table - not that there was any room for one. ''And you're Dean, Sam's brother.''

Dean furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. How did she know his name? He opened his mouth to ask, but she beat him.

''Sam left a note.'' She nodded at the sticky post-it on the top of the coffee maker.

Left for class. This is my brother, Dean. Don't hesitate to kick him out if he gives you trouble.

- Sam

Reading said note, Dean scoffed.

''I take it you're not on on Sam's good side,'' Juliet assumed, smiling behind her mug.

He shrugged, leaning against the small counter. ''Typical brothers.'' Dean took a long gulp of his black coffee, sighing at the burning feeling of the biter liquid as it passed through his throat. ''Sam and I are very different. Polar opposites, I'd say.''

Juliet looked him up and down and hummed affirmatively. ''I can see.''

At first glance, you wouldn't be able to tell they were brothers. Other than having very different facial features, their style was also contrasting. Although it remained along the lumberjack vibes - thanks to their father -, Dean was all about his fetish leather jacket and flannels while Sam was more of a polo and zip up hoodies person.

A phone went off, interrupting their small talk and Juliet checked the screen, knowing it was hers. She looked at the caller ID, face turning blank as she read the identifier. She let it ring.

''You don't pick up?''

She shook her head, biting her bottom lip, lowering her eyes on her bare thighs.

Dean didn't mean to pry, but he might have seen a guy's name on the screen. If he sticks to what Sam had told him last night, it must be her boyfriend - whom she got into a fight with.

''Want me to pick up?'' he suggested, lightening the mood, mild-joking.

''What?'' Juliet chuckled. ''No. I...I'll call him back later.''

Cocking an eyebrow, Dean gave her a look. ''Lie.''

Her blue eyes looked up and caught his green irises, holding an unsaid staring contest. As Dean stared into her eyes, he felt as if he could see through her like open doors. He could see how utterly unhappy she felt in all aspects of her life and it pulled at his heart.

Instead of admitting defeat, Juliet broke their stare and abruptly rose from her seat. ''Not that I don't like this morning chatter, but I have to get ready for work. My boss is going to have my head if I arrive late during lunch rush.''

It was almost eleven and, if she ran fast, she had a chance to get there in time.

She put her empty mug on the counter and skipped to the bed, retrieving some bundled clothes from a backpack at the end of Sam's bed.

''You work at a restaurant?''

''A diner,'' she corrected, fulmining though the bag for one more item before heading to the bathroom to change.

''Do you happen to serve pie at your diner?'' Dean asked, feeling hungry.

Knowing his Sam, he probably only had healthy snacks in his mini fridge and Dean was not about that life. He'll only eat lettuce when it's served with bacon and cheese...in a burger.

Peeking her head from the bathroom's door frame, Juliet flashed him a grin. ''Sure do.''

Just like that, Dean ended up sitting at some old fashioned diner's counter, eating a cherry pie with a scoop of ice cream, as recommended by the waitress.

''We don't usually serve it like that, but I'll make an exception for you,'' Juliet said, deposing the plate on the counter, right in front of Dean. ''After all, you saved me from getting fired.''

Dean smiled and thanked her before diving into the cherry goodness. God, he loves pie!

#dean winchester #dean winchester fic #reader x dean winchester #dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #supernatural fic #this has been in my drafts for so long #it's the prequel of my christmas fic #I havent reread it

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ihateoc · 2 months

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He's Fixed Now

(word count: 2,028) (shadow's friends like him)

Shadow lays on his side in bed, scrolling mindlessly on his phone while he ignores the bright sunlight pouring in through his window. It was well into the day now and the dark-haired man had no motivation to get out of bed.

"Shadow!" Bennett bursts into the room abruptly before cocking his head in confusion, "You're still in bed?" He walks over to the bed, sitting on the edge as he prods him, "Why aren't you up yet?"

"Because it's comfortable and I don't have anyone to kill," Shadow replies nonchalantly. He makes a show of stretching out across the sheets, grinning as he continues his little taunt, "And why should I get up when you're here to serve me breakfast?"

Bennett raises an eyebrow knowingly, "But you've been doing that for the past few days."

"Maybe I'm on vacation," The former mercenary retorts, the edges of his lips curving up in a smirk, "Besides, isn't that what normal people do? Take rests?"

"Erm, okay, but you've also been kind of cranky, too..." His words trail off when he notices the look of annoyance forming on Shadow's face.

"Am I not allowed to have mood swings?" Shadow hisses, sitting up in bed and furrowing his brow at Bennett, "You're acting like I'm a fucking robot."

Why was Bennett being so damn naggy today? Does that mean Ren will be around soon too? Man, now there's something worth getting out of bed for.

The softspoken man holds his hands up defensively before standing up from the bed, "Sorry, sorry. I'll leave you be," He leaves the room, closing the door behind him.

After Bennett's retreat, Shadow lets out a long sigh, ruffling his hands through his messy black hair. There was an emptiness gnawing at him. It wasn't the lack of assignments or the thrill of the kill he missed. It was having a purpose, something to focus on. He felt lost.

The following day, Shadow stays in bed until late in the afternoon again until there's a knock at the door. Without waiting for a response, his old friend, Carter, a skilled mercenary, enters the room wearing his usual attire of a black and red jacket, "Sorry to disturb you, sleeping beauty. But get the hell up. I need your help."

Shadow's eyes flicker open, focusing on the familiar figure, "Carter? What the fuck do you need my help for?" He questions, a challenging smirk playing on his lips as he pushes himself up into a sitting position.

"Need a new pair of shoes. You're coming with me. Get dressed. You have ten minutes," Carter states bluntly. Some things never change.

"Shopping? Really?" The dark-haired man groans, but a part of him perks up with interest. It was something to do, after all, "You're lucky I'm bored," He mutters as he throws his legs over the side of his bed, striding over to his closet to get changed.

Shadow gets ready and exits the apartment with Carter, who drags him to the mall. Fortunately, it's a relatively quiet day, something Shadow appreciates knowing how much Carter despises crowds.

"I just need a good pair of boots that'll hold up and won't stain with blood easily," The silver-haired man explains as he walks alongside Shadow.

"Messy kills lately?" Shadow teases, chuckling at his friend's familiar straightforwardness, "Well, looks like I'm your go-to guy for this kind of shit."

Carter can't resist heaving a sigh, his tone laced with annoyance as he scratches the back of his neck, "Yeah, Tenchi keeps sending me on horrible jobs. That guy is a pain."

"That's Tenchi for you. Always a goddamn pain in the ass," The former mercenary chuckles lightly, shaking his head with a small smirk curving his lips as he glances around.

Carter's annoyance is amusing to Shadow, but he can't help but feel envious of his friend being able to whine about such trivial things while he's stuck here in an idle loop. Damn, where does this stagnant feeling fit into his new laidback lifestyle?

"Yeah, you're lucky you're not working for him anymore. He's getting old now."

Shadow's smile falters for a moment before it resumes its cocky charm, "I wouldn't call myself lucky, Carter. Just trying something different."

They make their way to the shoe store, where Shadow assists Carter in finding a durable and well-fitting pair of boots. Exiting the store, Carter suggests, "Let's get lunch. I'm hungry."

"You're always hungry," Shadow chuckles, clapping his friend's shoulder, "But you ain't hearing any complaints from me. I could eat."

The silver-haired man sits across from Shadow at a fast-food burger place, swallowing the food in his mouth before asking, "How's Ren doing? Haven't seen her in awhile."

Pausing briefly, Shadow's facade momentarily falling as he thinks about Ren, "She's fine," He replies, trying to keep his tone casual even as a flash of longing fills his maroon eyes, "Still the same old stubborn killer."

"Why do you call her killer?" Carter presses him with the same deadpan tone of voice he usually uses, "Never understood that. She's not like us."

A half-hearted laugh escapes his lips, setting his burger down on its wrapper, "You're right. She's not like us," His voice holds a hint of admiration as he continues, "She's better than us."

Calling Ren a killer was more about him acknowledging her abilities and strength rather than attributing the title to her actions. He admits that it does feel weird hearing it from someone else's mouth.

"Yeah, most people are," Carter remarks with a nonchalant shrug, "Bennett said you've been moping around a lot lately. Why?"

"Moping?" Shadow scoffs, leaning back in his chair, "Bennett is full of shit," He dismisses the suggestion with a wave, though the slight shift in his aura betrays him.

"Quit doing that stupid, stubborn, thing you always do," Carter warns him as if scolding a child, "I prefer the Shadow that never shuts the hell up. Tell me what's wrong."

Carter always had a way of cornering Shadow into honesty. Fine, yes, he's finding this 'normal life' thing hard to adjust to, but why does everyone else have to care so much about it?

"Nothing's wrong, I'm just..." A sigh escapes Shadow's lips as he rolls his maroon eyes. He leans forward on the table, crossing his arms over each other, "I guess... Adjusting is tougher than I thought it would be."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," He admits, looking down at the table, "I mean... I used to kill people for a living and now what? It's like everything was so clear-cut then. Hunt them, find them, end them. But now..." He shrugs one shoulder helplessly.

Why was this so hard for him to explain? How could there be such an empty void within him despite finally having his freedom?

"Now you have the choice to do anything you want. I guess that's pretty overwhelming for you, huh?" Carter wonders, hitting the nail on the head.

Shadow nods, "Yeah, guess ya could say that. It's ironic in a way. I thought life would be simpler without all the bloodshed and violence but turns out it's more complicated."

Carter shrugs casually as he reassures him, "There's no rush or anything. Just find something that makes you happy and keep doing it."

The dark-haired man raises an eyebrow, a small smirk playing on his lips, "That's some solid advice coming from you, Carter," He says teasingly before sobering up and adding a sincere, "Thanks."

Despite his constant sarcasm, Carter really does understand him, though he never took him for a wise person. Maybe he does just need to find something he enjoys doing and focus on that instead.

"Just remember, mercenary or not, you're an idiot."

Shadow lets out a bark of laughter, shaking his head, "You always know exactly what to say, Carter," He retorts with an amused glint in his eyes.

"But you're my idiot."

His laughter dies down to a soft chuckle, a sincere smile tugging at the corners of his lips, "Now that's the sweetest thing you've said to me in... Ever," He teases, not missing how rare Carter's words were.

The duo explore the mall for a few more hours before returning to Bennett's apartment. When they open the door, Shadow takes note of the colorful balloons and streamers that decorate the room and the group of friends who are watching him expectantly.

"Happy birthday, Shadow!" Bennett exclaims enthusiastically.

Shadow blinks slowly, surprise evident on his face as he takes in the situation, "Birthday? Wait, what?" He manages to sputter out before pointing at Bennett, "This isn't some sort of twisted joke, is it?"

A birthday party? For him? He's never celebrated one before and hell, knowing when his actual birthday is would be news to him. What has gotten into these people?

"It's not a joke," Ren reassures him as she approaches, handing him a bouquet of bright, assorted flowers while Bennett places a birthday hat on his head, "I know you don't know when your birthday is but we thought we might throw you an impromptu birthday party. To signify the start of your new life, you know?" She places a hand on his shoulder when she takes note of the look of unease on his face.

Shadow freezes, his maroon eyes darting between the hand on his shoulder and the bouquet of flowers in his hands, "Oh, well... Uh... This is-" For once in his life, he was at a loss for words. His gaze softens as he focuses on Ren, "This is really fuckin' sweet of you guys."

"Bennett mentioned how you were feeling down so we wanted to do something nice for you," She explains with a comforting smile.

"Well, doll," He begins, unsure of how to respond. His voice comes out lower than usual as he searches for the right words, "I'm... I appreciate it."

Nobody had ever done something like this for him before. Is this what it feels like to be cared about? He felt unusually warm and vulnerable.

Ren's eyes widen in surprise for a moment before she grabs a tissue from the table and hands it over to him. That's when he realizes that there's tears streaming down his cheeks. Not out of sadness, but out of happiness. But goddamn, when was the last time he had actually cried? When he was a kid maybe?

"Are you okay, Shadow?" She wonders, genuine concern lacing her voice.

"Uh, shit... Yeah, yeah, I'm good. Just-" He swiped at his cheeks clumsily with the tissue Ren had handed him, chuckling awkwardly, "Guess I'm not used to this kinda thing," He finally confesses.

Carter, who was still standing behind him, pats his back comfortingly while Ren squeezes his shoulder lightly.

"I guess you'll just have to get used to it, huh?" She muses with a teasing grin.

Shadow lets out a strangled laugh, at a loss for how to respond, "I suppose so," He says after a moment of silence, looking back at Ren with wide eyes.

What the hell was he supposed to say? The fact that they were genuinely excited for him was freaking him out, but in a good way.

"Oh, um, we got you a cake too!" Bennett speaks up as he gestures to the table where the dessert reads 'Happy birthday, Shadow!', "We weren't sure which flavor you liked so we picked strawberry."

The dark-haired man's eyes glisten at the sight of the cake. He clears his throat, trying to mask how choked up he was feeling right now, "Damn, uh, thanks, Bennett."

"We have candles for you to blow out, too. Come on," Ren grabs his hand, leading him over to the table to sit down in front of the cake.

Bennett lights the candles as they sing happy birthday, prompting him to blow out the candles and make a birthday wish.

"Can't believe I'm doing this," Shadow mumbles under his breath, standing still for a moment before blowing out the candles while thinking to himself, 'If this isn't some kind of trick... Then maybe for my wish, I just want more days like this with these guys.'

#OC #my ocs #my characters #my writing #hxh oc #hutner x hunter oc #oc: shadow #oc: carter #oc: bennett #oc: ren

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scapegrace74-blog · 3 years

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New Ways of Turning into Stone, Chapter 3

A/N As promised, Jamie returns in this chapter. He has an appointment to keep, after all. Because I can’t think of anything more creative, this chapter is entitled “Second Appointment”. For previous chapters, your best bet is to check out the story on my AO3 page.

The week both crept and flew past, like one of those dreams in which she ran until her lungs burned, but never managed to get anywhere. Kinetic motion trapped in amber. Claire never did tell Geillis about her excursion to Corstorphine Hill over the weekend, embarrassed by how it had ended.

And now it was Thursday. She’d opted for a protein smoothie for lunch, a meal with no chance of leaving leafy residue between her teeth. It was likely wasted vanity. As two o’clock drew near, she bargained with herself to abandon any hope she may be harbouring. Jamie Fraser had shown no interest in participating in the psychiatric process during his first appointment. Fraternal obligation had brought him to her office once, but he didn’t strike her as a man who yielded the reins of his life easily. It wasn’t likely he would return.

When it came his distinctive knock, crisp and insistent, caught her unawares, even though she’d just been staring at his name in her planner. She hastily pushed the items on her desk to one side, patted uselessly at her curls, and called out for him to enter.

“Good afternoon, Doctor Beauchamp,” he greeted cautiously. “Miss Duncan told me tae come straight in.”

There was something different about him today. His clothing, certainly. Instead of casual wear, he wore trousers and a button down, wet splotches over the shoulders attesting to the fact that it had begun raining again. And while he still took up an inordinate amount of space in her small office, he seemed... diminished, somehow. A paler echo of the fireworks display of his first visit.

“Of course. Please have a seat, Mister Fraser.”

“Jamie, if you will,” he corrected as he settled gingerly into the armchair. “Mister Fraser was my Da.”

Something about his tone and the fact his laser blue eyes wouldn’t meet her own as he spoke the words caused her to lean into his statement.

“Did your father pass away recently, Jamie?”

A moment, an indrawn breath of panic, and then it was cleverly masked with a wry glance.

“Aye, last year. An’ yer no’ very subtle, doctor.”

“I didn’t realize subtlety was called for,” she parried. “You made another appointment, and I specialize in grief counselling. Why else would you be here?”

Despite the fact that it wasn’t productive from a psychiatric point of view, she enjoyed his reluctance to hastily expose his inner demons. Too often, her practice required her to work carefully in order to avoid shaping the pliable emotions of her patients. While obviously hurting, Jamie had an unflinching, unalterable quality that she admired. Not to mention that the intellectual game of cat and mouse they were playing was wildly stimulating.

“I suppose I enjoyed our conversation,” Jamie teased. “An’ Miss Duncan’s shortbread.”

With an awkward squint that she imagined was meant to be a wink, her patient rose to investigate the current offerings on her tea table.

“Och, petit fours!” he exclaimed with childlike glee and perfect French pronunciation. “There was a café none too far from my flat in Paris tha’ made these. I’d often grab some on my way tae the office.”

He returned to the desk with a small plate of the pastries, pushing it towards her as he settled into his seat.

“No, thank you. I’ve just eaten.”

Like a searchlight, his bright eyes didn’t miss much. He glanced significantly at the half-empty plastic smoothie container to one side of her desk. Rather than chide her for her austerity, as Geillis frequently did, he instead made a show of biting into each of the four little squares until there was nothing left but crumbs. Her stomach muttered in complaint.

“What did you do in Paris?” she asked as he finished his snack with a contented sigh.

“Oh, a wee bit of this and that,” he demurred. In response to her exasperated look, he continued, “I started out at the Bourse. Futures, options, arbitrage, that sort of thing. I have a good ear fer languages, sae from there I went into foreign exchange. Import export, and the like.”

“You’re a financier?” she asked, somewhat more incredulous than she ought to be. She wasn’t certain what she had pictured James Fraser doing for a living, but greasing the wheels of capitalism definitely wasn’t it.

“Was,” he corrected. “I quit an’ came home tae Scotland last year.”

“When your father died,” she guessed.

“Aye.”

She once again had the sense of standing in front of a locked door that Jamie had no intention of opening. Rather than hammer uselessly on its stubborn surface, she nimbly diverted the conversation sideways.

“What do you do for work now?”

A slow blink followed by a dawning smile indicated he was aware of her stratagem.

“I’m a carpenter.”

It was rare for Claire to be truly surprised by people. She made a living reading their unspoken cues. Twice in the same conversation was unheard of.

“A carpenter?” she repeated as though she hadn’t heard him perfectly well the first time.

“Aye. Like Jesus, ye ken?”

With a quicksilver grin, Jamie launched into a description of his current occupation, which involved the making of reproduction antiques and custom pieces for clients around Scotland. She realized with a start that she’d read an article about his business in a popular local magazine.

International financier. Self-made entrepreneur. Tall drink of water. James Fraser had a lot of things going for him. And yet here he sat, paying her by the hour to listen to him avoid talking about whatever hardship had befallen him.

She mentally composed a list of the topics he was deftly avoiding with his charming anecdotes. His father’s recent death. The reason behind a radical change in career. Living in the city on account of unspoken ‘family obligations’, even though his verbal reminiscence of the Highlands was so poetic it damn near made her cry. There was something raw just below the surface of his nonchalance, and her innate curiosity cried out to find out what it was.

“You told me last week that your sister, Jenny, insisted you attend counselling. But you said that you’re handling matters fine on your own. Can you tell me why your sister believes otherwise?”

It might have been amusing to see such a large man squirm in different circumstances. His left hand furrowed through his hair, setting the autumn waves on end. His mouth, so recently relaxed and mobile as he eagerly shared the details of his craft, froze in a pained frown. She considered whether she had pushed too hard too soon.

“I gave a lot of thought tae what ye said when we parted last week,” Jamie began at last. “Tae be honest, it haunted me. Jen kens me better than anyone, an’ while I like tae complain tha’ she meddles where she doesna belong, the truth is she’s truly scared fer me. An’ even if I dinna agree tha’ my lifestyle is cause fer concern, I owe it tae her tae try tae sort myself out. I owe her far more than that,” he finished with a rueful shake of his head.

“What kind of lifestyle has your sister so worried?” she probed.

“Whisky, women and song,” he quipped, before adding, “Weel, I canna carry a tune, but twa out of three isna half bad.”

He tried to smile away the awkward tension that descended on the office, the air ripe with unspoken words. Claire felt disappointment whirlpool in her gut. Just another charming rake, after all. It really shouldn’t matter, and yet somehow it did. More than she dared to admit.

“Yes, well, the road of excess leads to the palace of consequences, ” she sniffed at last, angry at herself for sounding like a schoolmarm. What a bore she must seem to him, with her regimented behaviour and rigid morals.

Jamie rose abruptly, and for a half-second she imagined he might lunge at her, or storm from the room. Instead, he spun around to face the door. Without a word, he untucked his shirt and began to expose his lower back.

Claire was momentarily stunned silent. Just as she managed to draw a deep enough breath to censure Jamie for his highly inappropriate strip tease, the golden velour of his lower back transformed without warning into a furrowed landscape of scar tissue, ripples and craters left by some massive trauma. The air left her lungs on a questioning sigh.

“I ken all about consequences, Doctor Beauchamp,” he stated. “I live with them every moment of my life.”

Her fingers found the knotted skin, surprisingly warm and mobile beneath her touch. A shiver shimmered over the unmarred muscle of his flanks.

Before she could find any appropriate words of apology, the office door opened and Geillis stuck her head in. She barked a cough upon seeing Jamie’s state of undress and Claire’s position, leaning across her desk. Doctor and patient jumped apart like opposing magnets.

“Sae sorry for the interruption, but yer three o’clock is here. Should I tell her ye’ve been... delayed?”

Jamie muttered an obscenity under his breath which Claire whole-heartedly seconded. There was no way Geillis wasn’t going to be utterly insufferable about this.

“Mister Fraser was just leaving, Geillis.”

With a lewd wink and a nod, the door closed.

“Look, Jamie...” she began just as he apologized. “I’m sae sorry, lass.”

They both laughed nervously. Jamie finished tucking his shirt into his pants and turned to face the desk.

“I hope this willna cause ye any difficulties with Miss Duncan,” he began, eyes wide with concern.

“No more so than usual,” she sighed. “Geillis is a good friend. She just... doesn’t know when to quit, sometimes,” she explained.

“Sounds jus’ like my sister. Perhaps we should introduce them.”

She smiled, struggling to find something else to say to move past the moment. She could hear Geillis and her next patient conversing just outside the door. There was no time left for subtlety.

“Will I see you again next week, Jamie?” she asked, giving up on finding a more oblique way of phrasing the question that was reverberating through her mind.

Jamie’s bashful smile dipped towards the floor, causing his hair to fall in front of his eyes.

“Aye. I’ll even keep my clothes on, if ye ask nicely.”

It was that smile, that hair, those eyes, that carried her through the rest of her week, aloft on the anticipation of something utterly forbidden.

#my writing #outlander

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achubbydumpling · 3 years

Note

Modern Bucky is fat and Steve’s sugar baby. Steve likes to spoil him. :3

eyy only took me a month and a half to answer 😂😂 I'm sorry, nonnie, but I'm highjacking your idea and using it for today's chubtober prompt :D

(I ended up having a lot more ideas for this than I could actually finish writing in time, so this ends pretty abruptly as soon as Steve and Bucky actually meet)

[unfinished] Oct 3: Masks and Malfunctions

Rating: Mature Words: 1911 Relationship: James “Bucky” Barnes/Steve Rogers Additional Tags: Sugar Daddy AU, Daddy Kink, Belly Kink, Weight Gain, Verbal Humiliation, Stuffing, Corsets, Age Gap

Bucky’s phone chimed and he didn’t even have to look at the screen to know that “Steve” just sent him more than enough money for the costume Bucky wanted. He didn’t actually know if that was the guy’s real name, but he’d been funding Bucky’s lifestyle since the beginning of college and Bucky wasn’t about to fuck that up by questioning the guy’s identity.

If this were a normal Halloween party Bucky would have just bought a random costume at Spirit Halloween, but his kinda boyfriend Jonas (it’s complicated) had invited him as a plus one to an actual masquerade ball. Bucky didn’t even know those kinds of things existed outside of fantasy novels, but right now he was at a high-end clothing store getting an “appropriate” costume.

[Bucky] Thank you, Daddy❤

Bucky texted Steve and then went back to trying on another dress shirt. This one had a looser cut that reminded him of something the male love interest in a period drama would wear or a pirate.

“Wonderful choice,” the store clerk told Bucky when he stepped back from the mirror. Bucky would probably never get used to having someone help him pick out clothes, but the higher-end stores Bucky had been to all offered this type of assistance.

“It drapes very well,” the clerk said with a sneer on his face. Bucky turned back to the mirror. Yes, he had to admit he’d fallen victim to the freshman 15. A small belly was rounding out even against the loose fabric of the shirt, but he didn’t actually feel self-conscious.

Steve had complimented him on every single one of those pounds. Bucky probably wouldn’t even have noticed all the changes to his body if Steve hadn’t been constantly talking about them. Bucky had never put much effort into maintaining his physique, but being hyped up by Steve over the smallest changes of his body made him feel desired and his heart fluttered every time his sugar daddy complimented his thicker thighs and soft belly.

“Any other suggestions?” Bucky asked and the clerk scoffed.

“A corset,” he muttered under his breath, but Bucky’s ears pricked up at the suggestion. His first instinct was to text Steve. Bucky didn’t know why it was important for him to know Steve’s opinion when Bucky was going to the party as someone else’s plus one, but excitement stirred in Bucky’s stomach at what Steve might say.

“Sure, get the corset.” Bucky sent the clerk on their way and then sat down to text Steve. He could feel his belly straining against the shirt buttons now that he was sitting down and he snapped a picture of the way the buttons on the otherwise loose shirt were straining over the thickest part of his belly.

[Bucky] Daddy~ they’re telling me I’m fat

[Bucky] they said I need a corset

[Steve] You will look incredible either way.

Annoyance prickled at the back of Bucky’s neck from the generic compliment.

[Bucky] that’s not what I asked

[Steve] You didn’t ask anything.

Bucky rolled his eyes at how literal Steve could sometimes be, but Bucky also didn’t know how to ask for what he really wanted to hear.

Some of his classmates had teased him for his weight gain and instead of making Bucky feel insecure, the hot shame had shot straight to his dick and he’d had to excuse himself to deal with the problem. Since then Bucky couldn’t stop thinking about Steve telling him those things.

Bucky didn’t even know what the guy looked like, but he’d quickly developed a crush just from texting him. It was actually fun to talk. Bucky couldn’t understand how the guy was single when he seemed like this perfect, interesting and kind guy—and rich on top of all that.

There has to be something wrong with him, but so far Bucky hadn’t been able to figure it out. Not for the first time Bucky wondered who Steve actually was, but his thoughts were interrupted when the clerk came back with three different corsets.

All the same material and color, just different cuts. Bucky’s eyes were immediately drawn to the tiny waist cincher—just tall enough to cover the widest part of his belly. Despite his grumblings the clerk helped Bucky lace up the corset and when he looked in the mirror he couldn’t believe it was him looking back.

His entire body shape seemed different. From the billowing sleeves of the shirt emphasizing his wide shoulders to the waist cincher doing an excellent job of making it look like he still had a waist instead of the soft belly that was hidden underneath. The simple black slacks he was wearing completed his outfit. Simple colors, just black and white.

The mask he had chosen matched as well. A deep midnight black that contrasted with his piercing blue eyes and gold detailing that caught the light when Bucky turned his head. He snapped another picture for Steve, but didn’t wait for his response. Bucky could still hardly believe that a single outfit could be this expensive, but Steve of course had transferred enough money to pay for it. On his way home Bucky finally checked his phone.

[Steve] What did I tell you? Incredible.

[Bucky] better than without the corset?

[Steve] This feels like a set-up.

Bucky groaned at Steve’s response. Of course, Bucky would luck out and get the sugar daddy that won’t humiliate him for gaining fifteen pounds before the semester was even over and wasn’t that a personal revelation. Bucky had never thought of himself as someone who could want something like this, but since gaining weight he had become more aware of his body—and how others perceived it.

[Bucky] it is

He quickly pocketed his phone after sending that text. Bucky immediately regretted it. He’d had a good thing going with Steve. Why risk fucking that up? His phone vibrated multiple times, but Bucky was too worried to check his messages until he got home. As soon as he’d closed the apartment door behind him he fished his phone out of his pocket.

[Steve] What does that mean?

[Steve] If you don’t want to continue this arrangement, you can just tell me.

[Steve] Bucky.

[Steve] Answer me.

[Steve] What do you want me to say? That you’re a spoiled pig? That you’ve gotten fat on your Daddy’s money and need a corset to look good for your little boytoy?

Bucky’s throat went dry as he read Steve’s message. The wave of lust that crashed through him, threw him off balance and he sat down heavily on the bench in the entry way of his apartment. He read the message again. And again. His dick gave an interested twitch. It was embarrassing how much he reacted to Steve’s words.

[Steve] Is that what you want?

[Steve] Don’t leave me on read.

Bucky didn’t know what to say. He typed and retyped the same message again until another one from Steve popped up.

[Steve] ‘Yes’ or ‘no’? It can’t be this hard to type one fucking word.

Bucky couldn’t breathe. Steve had always been kind and considerate, it made Bucky’s heart race to see this side of him.

[Bucky] Yes.

[Steve] Thank you, but we will talk more about this tomorrow.

Bucky’s phone chimed to tell him, he should be on his way now if he wanted to get to the party on time. His mind was still caught up in foggy arousal, his cock tenting his slacks. It’s too much, he wasn’t thinking straight and Steve wasn’t even here—wasn’t even touching him. Just a text and Bucky was a mess.

At least the walk to the subway station helped to clear Bucky’s head and chase away some of the immediate, burning need that had been burning in his guts just a few minutes earlier. It left him frustrated, but slightly more level-headed and in a more appropriate mood to be out in public.

When Bucky met up with Jonas outside the high-rise office building the guy was already wasted. He was surrounded by his office buddies and Bucky was honestly about to turn on his heel and go back home when Jonas called out to him. With all his mates there Jonas treated Bucky like another one of them and Bucky was already over the metaphorical dick-measuring contest that was happening whenever one of these guys opened their mouth.

Once they got inside Bucky split off from the group, Jonas didn’t even seem to notice. So, he explored the venue. The party stretched across multiple floors. The bottom floor was full of rich and wanna-be rich people schmoozing and socializing, barely anyone of them had stuck to the masquerade theme and Bucky kept debating whether he should take off his own mask.

He was much more comfortable on the upper floor. There were less people here and most of them kept to themselves. He felt less out of place when he noticed that most of the people here stuck to the masquerade theme, there were only a few people who’s face wasn’t at least partially hidden behind a mask.

Jonas didn’t even shoot him a quick text to ask where he had disappeared to, so Bucky was more than ready to just find whatever food this place offered, eat for free tonight and make the best of the situation. He didn’t know what he’d expected dating someone his age, but Bucky was done settling for anything and he made a resolution to break up whatever was going on between him and Jonas.

When Bucky finally found the buffet that was standard for these types of events, he couldn’t stop himself from loading up two plates and searching for a quiet, secluded place to eat. At this point it had become a reflex to send Steve a text whenever he sat down to stuff himself.

[Bucky] found the food

He sent a picture with his hand next to the plates to give Steve a sense of how big they were. Some guy’s phone went off as soon as Bucky hit send two tables over and for a moment Bucky wondered if that’s Steve.

He had a commanding presence even sitting down. Bucky could tell he’s a gym buff from his ridiculous shape. His shoulders looked almost double the size of his waist. As well as the large plate of food in front of him. This man needed to fuel his body with all those calories, but Bucky was eating more than him and only planning on getting fatter. Bucky dug in.

His little costume went from fitting perfectly fine to too tight within half a plate of food. The corset was throwing a wrench into Bucky’s plan of stuffing himself. He already felt full before he had even really gotten started. The blond guy from two tables over caught Bucky’s eye again. He was frowning at his phone and looking back up at Bucky.

[Steve] What are you doing here?

[Bucky] what do you mean?

Another phone chime from two tables down. Bucky re-read the text two times before he looked back at the blond guy. No way that’s Steve. That would be too much of a coincidence, right? Bucky sent another message and the guy’s phone went off again. For a moment Bucky contemplates just getting up and walking away, but then Steve was already out of his chair and walking up to Bucky’s table.

#asks #chubby bucky #chubtober 2021 #chubby kink

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wendimydarling · 3 years

Text

Cover the Mirrors

Summary: Amber is earning a masters degree in mythology and folklore; when a handsome stranger sweeps her off her feet, she’s left wondering how, and struggles to keep up with his lifestyle.

Pairing: Vampire!August Walker x OFC (first person reader)

Word Count: 6826

Warnings: Alright, we ready to get into the menu of delights we will be reading today? Okay but seriously, if you are triggered by anything on this list, it is your responsibility to not read this work of fiction. The warnings are as follows: manipulation, subtle exhibitionism, fingering, penetrative sex, mention of oral (male receiving), biting, clawing, choking, blood, male violence, gore, non-con, rape, spitting, fear play, primal play, breeding, mention of death, torture, and potentially cannibalism, if you squint.

A/N: Okay so this story is based off of this thread where @killjoy-assbutt-1112 gave me a fic title, but I added another twist to it that I’d been brewing for months; I was excited about it but now I’m not. Whatever, I’ll give it to you anyway. Sources for my vampire lore came from here and here. Cover art was made by me; August was drawn by the amazingly talented @cheyentjj and has been used with her permission. Thank you so much to everyone who brainstormed with me, and a special thanks to @agniavateira for betaing!

“If you look at the Slavic region, vampire folklore runs rampant. One especially interesting specimen is the Pijavica. The Pijavica (translated “leech”, or “drinker”) was a rare species of vampire— traditionally male, and a powerfully strong, cold-blooded killer. The potential for conception is most commonly believed to be through the incest of the deceased with his mother during his life, though some believe that one can be created through the exceptionally malicious and evil acts of the deceased before his death.

The birth of a Pijavica is attributed to many different causes, including suffering an “unnatural” or untimely death such as suicide, excommunication, improper burial rituals, or even simple causes such as an animal jumping or bird flying over either the corpse or the empty grave, being conceived on certain days, or being born with a caul, teeth, or tail.”

I paused my typing, fingers leaving the keyboard in order to brush loose strands of hair from my face. Around me, the baristas of my favorite coffee shop were buzzing like worker bees in an old hive; they were gearing up for the lunch rush, and I realized I’d been here four hours already.

This place had long been my go-to study zone. It was small; there was just enough hustle and bustle to keep me from descending too deep into the abyss of studying and yet, it had the respect of the patrons that a library does. The owner, Fred, made sure that conversations were kept in hushed tones, courteous to those of us who needed to work in noise instead of quiet.

“If ya wanna be loud, go sit at a Starbucks!” He’d huff at those who didn’t heed his warning.

My eyes took in the familiar surroundings as I stretched. An oversized wood-burning fireplace filled the wall next to the vintage cash register; it was sandwiched between two built-in bookcases housing stories of all kinds that were meant to be read and enjoyed. The old stone clackling ran all the way up the wall, and a custom mantle made from an old oak tree that had fallen in Fred’s backyard sat delicately above the firebox. Yes, this shop was magical. It held a special place in my heart, and I’d visited so often that old Fred had deemed the table I sat at as “my table”. It was always kept reserved for me.

I reached for my coffee without looking; my brain needed more caffeine. I’d spent months on this master thesis, and yet for some reason, the notion of vampires was such a struggle. I didn’t understand the fear of those who lived back then. The origins of bloodsuckers were chaotic, the “treatments” laughable and still, people were willing to kill their own offspring over such nonsensical superstitions. Cold drops of stale roast hit my lips in a harsh reminder that I’d finished my previous dose. I sighed heavily and dropped the cup to the wooden surface of my table. Eyes closed, I laced my fingers around my neck and drew my elbows together to stretch my spine. Coffee. I need more coffee.

“Having trouble?”

A man’s baritone, smooth as whiskey interrupted my thoughts. My body jolted at his leisurely tone, and I nearly tumbled off the chair as my eyes snapped open to view the intruder. Sitting across from me was anything but a man; I was in the presence of divine artistry, two breathtaking orbs of gray-washed sky centered below auburn curls that adorned his perfectly symmetrical face. A sharp nose pointed to his strong jaw, while an amused smirk tugged at the corner of lips that I’m certain could send even a nun to her bedroom for self-maintenance. He wore a crisp, pinstripe suit, the buttons of his dress shirt undone sinfully low, revealing a smattering of additional curls.

My oversized turtleneck sweater and leggings suddenly felt subpar.

“The name’s Walker,” he mused further, gesturing a large hand toward the empty paper tumbler that was now lying on its side. “What were you drinking?”

“I--I um,” I fumbled with my words, embarrassed by my sudden inability to form a proper sentence. “I had a flat white? With two extra shots of espresso.”

The man named Walker had the cup in his hand and was out of his chair before I could blink; he was already ordering another coffee by the time I managed to process his intentions. I watched him hand the barista a bill I couldn’t see, but by the shocked expression on her face at the man’s declination of the change, it must have been a sizable amount. He sat down at the table again and stared at my chest unabashedly, making it clear he wasn’t just looking but imagining as well.

I should have been offended or felt objectified, but instead I felt drawn into his gaze.

“Having trouble?” He asked again, gesturing this time at my laptop.

“How long were you sitting there?” I blurted out, still too flummoxed to answer his question. Walker laughed and I swear, time stood still. Never in my life had I heard something so beautiful.

“Long enough.”

His reply was short and cryptic, a dismissal of my burgeoning curiosity. The barista chose that moment to bring two orders of coffee to the table, offering both of them to Walker by mistake. I took in her awestruck countenance, and there wasn’t a doubt in my mind that if my face matched hers I’d sink to the floor and die of shame. That notion shook me from my stupor and I was finally able to address his question.

“It’s my master thesis,” I explained, taking a sip of the scalding liquid he handed me. “I’m a History major, with an emphasis in mythology and folklore.”

I took another sip and tapped my phone, large numbers greeting me on the screen. Numbers that told me I was extremely late.

“Oh my god I have to go, I’m so sorry!” I apologized, scrambling to pack my things. In my haste I knocked my drink off the table. Resignation sunk in deep, submission to the knowledge of further humiliation at the impending spill. None came however, as Walker caught the drink in his hand before it crashed to the dark tiles.

“Thank you,” I murmured, gawking at him in bewilderment. Who was this man?

“It’s my pleasure,” he said, standing to help me collect the remainder of my books. “I’m interested in your thesis, could we perhaps discuss it over dinner? I don’t want to keep you from your next engagement.”

“I—” I stared at him, his face open and inviting. I’d been asked out before, but never this abruptly, and never by someone who looked and behaved like him. It sounded like an adventure…or a good story to tell on girls’ night at least.

“You know what, sure. Why not?”

I scribbled my number onto a napkin and slid it his way, grabbing the rest of my gear and heading toward the door. As I pushed against the hard metal, Walker’s large fingers caught my wrist, wrapping around it like ivy wraps around a lamppost. They were cool to the touch and yet somehow, my entire body immediately felt heated.

“We forgot first names,” he chuckled, “I’m August.”

I grinned sheepishly, pulling my arm from his surprisingly firm grip. The clank of the metal door handle resonated with the introduction I threw over my shoulder as I left the warmth of the shop and the handsome man behind.

“Amber.”

It took August a full week to call me. I felt like a fool; Did I leave on a poor note? Had I offended him somehow? Did he simply decide to change his fucking mind? I was kicking myself for saying yes; how could I have agreed to go on a date with a complete stranger? Now that I was no longer in his flustering presence, I began to see reason again. I knew nothing more than this man’s name, and the fact that he was more than likely rich. He could be a cold-blooded killer for all I knew, and I had every intention of telling him off.

I was in my apartment when he called. Still stuck on my thesis, I was currently unable to determine how best to explain the theory behind the sexual appeal of vampires. In my frustration, I hung upside down over the side of my bed, reading a book that discussed the many different works of literature revolving around vampirical romanticism and hoping the blood rushing to my brain would help me ascertain how to go about my explanation. The book was written by two authors who essentially argue the whole time, one of them convinced that the human fascination with vampires stems from the cannibalistic nature of bloodsucking or that it alluded to other bodily fluids such as semen, whereas the other stood firm in his belief that it held a much simpler cause; it was nothing more than the presence of oral fixation and sadism that caused the fantasy to plant its seed.

My phone vibrated but I ignored it, too engrossed in my book to be bothered with answering. I was so close… the answer was right there, it just continued to escape me. It wasn’t until my phone vibrated a second time to notify me of a voicemail that I put the pages down and picked up the electronic device.

The moment I heard August excusing his delay in calling to a work emergency, I immediately sat up and hit redial. There was something in his voice that made my heart quicken and my pulse race; it made the hair on my arms stand on end. I regretted sitting up so fast as it rang, the blood surrounding my brain draining quickly into the rest of my body. August answered on the second ring.

“Hi, Amber.”

“I—hi.”

I rolled my eyes then flinched in pain, congratulating myself sarcastically on how pathetic that response sounded with a slap of my palm to my forehead.

“Please, allow me to apologize again for waiting so long to call,” August insisted, seemingly unphased by my lack of vocabulary. “I still intend to take you to dinner, that is if you haven’t written me off completely.”

“No it’s fine, I totally get it,” I assured him. I had completely forgotten my earlier annoyance. He had explained it after all, and it could happen to anyone.

“Perfect. I’ll send a car tonight then, at seven. Wear something revealing please, I wasn’t able to see that pretty little neck of yours last time.”

My insides shook with an unexpected pang of shocked arousal at August’s request. The sexual confidence saturating his tone had me instantly reduced to nothing more than a deep desire for him to drag me to my knees by my hair. Why I wasn’t offended by the dominantly abrupt way this man spoke to me, I’ll never know. I put on the best flirty air I could manage in my stupor.

“I think I can manage that. Might have to charge you though.”

August laughed for the second time since I’d known him and I smiled, proud that I’d caused such a melodious sound to grace this earth.

“I like your spirit; you’re gonna be fun. I’ll see you tonight.”

“I—okay bye,” I managed to say before he hung up. I stared at my phone stupidly, as though I thought he was going to call again. Instead, the large clock face glared up at me like it always does, an ever present reminder that I live on a different plane of time than the rest of the world. I fell back on the bed, thinking about the man named August.

He likes my spirit? I hadn’t really shown him much, I’d been unable to do anything but stammer and trip over my words like a schoolgirl would when confronted by the cutest jock at school. What could he possibly see in me? The woman I truly was, the one I knew was underneath the bumbling idiot finally answered me. You’ve got three hours, Amber. Show him what you’re made of.

Resolve set in, and I bounced off the bed and walked toward my closet. For whatever reason, he’d chosen me, so I was going to let my confidence in that thought override all the self-doubt that was threatening to surface. I pulled my favorite dress from the hanger and set out to work. He wanted revealing? Then revealing is what he’d get, but I was going to do it my way.

The car was punctual, though I was less so. I scrambled to put diamond studs in my ears while being driven to some unknown location, my nerves making my hands shake. Once again, the notion that I could be driving to my death crept up my spine, but I brushed it off. Rich men send cars, it’s what they do. And I am an intelligent woman, I wouldn’t let myself be put in that situation.

Would I?

Touching the final stroke of Red Wine lipstick on my lips, I pulled my loose curls over my shoulder to expose my neck and put my things in my vintage black clutch, staring out the window at the ancient building that housed the most expensive club in town. I was suddenly grateful I’d chosen such a fancy dress. I fidgeted with the soft hem of the sleeve at my wrist, drawing it back and forth between my fingers while I waited for the driver to come to a stop.

I saw August there waiting, looking sharp as ever in another expensive three-piece suit, buttons undone just as low as the first time. This time however, I felt much better matched to his attire, and my confidence rose right next to my excitement. August came down the steps to open the door and I took his hand, hiking the burgundy velvet up to my thigh so that I could exit the car smoothly. The heavy fabric dropped to the ground the moment I freed it from my grasp, allowing August to study how I’d chosen to honor his request.

August drank in my covered form, taking in the way my dress hugged my curves and accentuated what it needed to. His eyes darkened as they lingered on the single large triangular section of bare skin that started at my shoulders and came to a point between my breasts, and I watched his tongue dart out of his mouth softly. He looked downright hungry. August stepped closer, fingertips grazing the flesh on my collarbone before he fastened his grip onto my nape and inhaled the hair at my temple deeply, pressing his lips to my ear.

“You are simply mouthwatering,” he growled, low and possessive. His hand released my neck and slid down to the small of my back, sending a shiver down my spine. My insides quivered at his touch, fragrant drops of dew pooling rapidly in the flimsy lace that guarded my mound from potential intruders.

“You wanted to see my ‘pretty little neck’,” I teased his earlier arrogance, lifting my skirt to traverse the steps leading inside, “I thought I’d frame her for you, give her the spotlight.”

August cocked an eyebrow at me in amusement, sensing my challenge. His fingers dug into my hip a little harder than necessary as he guided me through the establishment with nothing more than a nod to the hostesses. Apparent jealousy marred the face of one, and I thought I saw a hint of worry on the other. We were gone before the emotion could register in my mind.

I was escorted to a private booth in the upstairs of the establishment. While the first floor was crowded and full of people, the second floor was empty; August had requested it for our use alone. I could hear the hum of nightlife below, the haunting, non-lyrical melody of a soft alto wafting over the balcony as we walked past, the whispered promise of an enchanting night. A few tables and chairs were strategically placed on the floor, hugged by back-to-back rounded booths on either wall. Light ethereal curtains hung on either side of them, offering privacy from the guests who would typically sit in the next box over. August led me to the corner booth nearest the balcony so that we could look upon the stage if we chose.

“Our table, milady,” he joked, leaving a wet kiss on the back of my hand. Though the charade was seemingly in jest, it could not have been farther from it. His piercing eyes never left mine and I gasped at the feel of his brazen tongue on my skin. The suggestion of what he could do with it hung thick in his gaze, lacing the air with the succulent first tendrils of decadent tension. Playing along, I took a sharp breath and curtsied. I stayed low as August stood to show him the appeal of my figure at this angle, tilting just my head to look up at him. He stood there, head held high like a king, and the smile I received at my display was downright sinful.

“What a treat you are,” he murmured, cupping my chin briefly. My breasts swelled as I stood, consenting August the claim to chivalry by way of settling me into the alcove. He swept my hair over my shoulder again, trailing a single finger down my neck in admiration before taking his own seat. My insides were nothing but a pile of kindling, and every touch he gave was a spark that threatened to ignite the dry leaves into a burning flame of need.

The courses came and went just like those moments, every phrase emphasized with physical intimacy of some kind, whether it be just a gossamer brush of his fingers on my ear or an intentional grasping of my hand. He went as far as to boldly stroke the back of his knuckle along my cleavage, making me dizzy with desire. Each touch was avaricious—like he owned me—and I had zero qualms about letting him.

We ate our fill, but August made no move to leave the comfort of our small corner. With the noise of people below dulled by the far reaches of our seclusion, it was easy to converse. I told him more about my master thesis and the Pijavica, how they could read minds and enjoyed the power of persuasion, how they were impervious to all but decapitation, and how only their offspring could kill them. He listened intently, sharing tales of his own career. It was how I discovered that he was a doctor.

“I don’t practice anymore though, I prefer to study and learn. Specifically, I’m attracted to tears.”

“Tears?” That struck me as odd; it wasn’t often you came across someone who had such a unique field of study. “Why tears?”

August swirled the whiskey in his glass and downed it abruptly. He subtly indicated to our attendant for another before continuing his explanation.

“I’ve always had a fascination for the small things, things that people don’t seem to think matter; the mind-body connection, you know? For example,” he brushed a thumb over my cheekbone, “Did you know that the cellular structure of tears looks different based on the type of tear?”

August cupped my neck with both of his hands, tilting my head this way and that, his calm features set in measured focus as he spoke.

“Basal, reflexive, emotional... they all look different.”

I closed my eyes, letting him caress my skin. August’s touch was intoxicating, addicting. Even his scent was an aphrodisiac to my senses. I couldn’t get enough of it, lured ever closer to his sturdy frame, letting him manipulate my body how he saw fit. He nuzzled my hair, his soft spoken words dripping with lust into my ear.

“In fact,” he went on, “Even among those categories they differ, dependent on the stimuli.”

I could feel his breath on my neck, his lips surrounding the pulsepoint in my veins as he spoke, my jaw his destination. A hand snuck under my skirt, skimming along my trembling skin toward the seeping treasure that awaited him at the end of his journey. I spread my legs willingly, inviting him into my deepest of secrets. August hummed as he went on, sending spirals of tingling vibrations through my chest.

“The sting of onions, the sadness of grief… the satisfaction of overwhelming pleasure.”

“August…” I breathed, but my voice was severed as August simultaneously laid claim to my mouth and my womb. Thick fingers penetrated me in the same moment as his probing tongue, and it was in that moment I knew I was lost; August Walker could pull everything from me and I wouldn’t care; I’d want it, need it. He had spent all night teasing me, testing me, manipulating me and filling me with nothing but a desire for more, leaving me empty and wanting. He had succeeded, I now craved him above all else in this world.

August lifted my skirts, hoisting me with little effort to straddle his lap and I cried out in shock. The sound of my sudden impalement on the thick steel of his manhood was camouflaged by the crowd of people below; no one heard the echo of carnal awakening that sang through the air. When had he undressed? I bit my lip as he sank deeper into my core until the salty bitterness of copper and iron stung my chin. August’s eyes fell to the red droplet, darkening until the only color left in his pale irises was the very absence of light. With a hideous growl he ravaged my mouth, tasting every inch of my bruised lips with the hunger of an animal that’s been caged for far too long.

Thrill and terror tangled themselves in my mind, weaving an intricate web of wanton desire inside of me as August took me right there in the booth. Time itself seemed to halt, the room disappeared. Were we still in the club? Was it still the dead of night? Did I still require oxygen to breathe? Or was my life source now August’s touch, the light in my very soul dependent upon his kiss?

I didn’t notice when we left, nor when we arrived at a house that overlooked the city. I didn’t notice the lock on the basement door, or the fresh garden in the yard. I didn’t notice the continual rising and setting of the sun. I didn’t notice when I grew hungry, nor when I grew tired. I didn’t notice, not anything but passion, need, and desperation.

I didn’t notice.

Sleep drained from my limbs slowly. I awoke to black silk caressing my skin, dim sunlight shining through the wall, diffused by a covering of clouds that hung in the sky. It confused me that it was coming through the entire wall, until I realized that said wall was simply one large window, and the room I found myself in was built into the rock of an obsidian cliff overlooking the city. The room was minimally decorated in dark tones that coordinated with the nature outside, save for a striking, golden painting of a woman crying on the far wall. I clearly wasn’t home, and last night’s events slowly returned to the forefront of my mind.

August.

August was, without a doubt, the most attentive lover I’d ever had. Memories of his lips, his scent, his god-like physique that was surely carved from marble entertained my thoughts, returning my mind to the pleasure I’d never experienced in my life. Chills ran up and down my skin, alighting in wonder as my hand drifted to my sex. My fingers found my petals, swollen from overuse, aching in the dull agony of satisfaction. I stroked them gently, soothing the pleasant tenderness, moaning softly as the blood rushed to swell my clit once more, my other hand slipping beneath the silk to join in the heavenly edging torment.

A sharp, sudden sting at the brush of my inner thigh caused me to cry out, my hands snatching away from their play. I sat up, peering beneath the sheets to discover a semi-circle of divots cut into my leg. Is that a… a bite mark? I pulled at the skin and felt the dried blood crack, a small pinprick of new red seeping through the scab. I lunged from the bed to stand in front of the full-length mirror in the corner and look for other signs or markings, but what I found made me gasp.

Bruises peppered my neck, chest, hips and thighs. A few other crescents were scattered amongst them, standing out against the dark patches that shaded my skin. I took a physical inventory then, feeling the soreness in my jaw from being stretched by his cock, the ache of my neck from having my hair pulled, the shaky feeling of muscular fatigue in my legs from being tensed by orgasm after orgasm. I thought I detected a slight sheen on my skin, but I couldn’t tell if that was from the tremulous bliss of a satisfying fuck, or if it was the sweat and oil caused by said satisfying fuck. Either way, I looked happy and content. I grabbed August’s dress shirt from the floor and threw it on as I left the room to explore.

The bedroom led to a hallway, the wall to my left still nothing but expansive glass that showed off the impressive view. On the other side were large, black and white abstract prints, hung evenly spaced against dark panels. To the left of each was a shadow box with an ornate glass vial inside; each bottle was thin, no longer than my palm and differing in design from the others. Tiny, intricate patterns were painted on the outsides in white, blue, and gold, and gold stoppers sealed each one. When I entered the main room, I discovered a curio cabinet that housed at least a hundred of them, and I leaned in to look at how varied each one was.

“Victorian tear catchers,” August’s voice was suddenly behind me and I whirled sharply, startled. He chuckled at my alarm and I laughed with him, enjoying that glorious sound.

“They’re beautiful,” I murmured, turning back to look at the delicate glass. August pulled me against his naked chest, nosing my hair and kissing my neck.

“Yes you are,” he whispered, earning an eye roll from me. August chuckled and opened the cabinet.

“Would you like one?”

“Really?”

I looked at him, stunned. He simply nodded his head in the direction of the vials and I examined them, selecting one that had a white pattern on it that looked like lace.

“Mmm, a good choice. Perhaps I can collect tears of ecstasy for you,” August whispered. The thrill of what he was implying awakened my senses, and I let him lead us slowly back toward the bedroom. I felt like teasing him, so I delayed a bit by asking about the art on the wall.

“What are those?” I pointed to the first print, a cross-hatching pattern that looked like it was made of sewing pins.

“Those are tears of grief,” he stated, stopping in front of each as he walked me gradually down the hall.

“A yawn,” he said of the next, a white background with dark, fern-looking splatters. August traced his mouth along my jaw, his hand dipping beneath the button of his shirt to play with the sensitive nipples he had rediscovered. I keened as he continued shifting us toward the kitchen, struggling to keep my composure. The next print was a much darker gray, and it looked like it was covered in snowflakes.

“Any guesses?” August asked, mouthing my earlobe in tandem with the flick of his thumbs over my hardened nubs. I whimpered, my knees weak in his lustful embrace.

“Uhm… cold air?” I rasped as he sucked on my neck. August chuckled through his nose, the vibrations of his voice rippling through my chest to connect with his teasing fingers.

“Onions.”

“Yeah okay.”

I tilted my head so that I could kiss him, but suddenly the thought of onions turned my stomach. I lurched, pulling away and gagging slightly. Instead of concern, August smiled knowingly, seemingly unbothered by my retching.

“I see morning sickness has set in. It’s a little early and I had hoped you’d be able to avoid it, but alas, that’s not the case.”

My head swam suddenly, confusion mutilating all thought. I backed away from him.

“Morning what? What are you talking about?”

August took a step toward me, placing a hand on my belly and lacing his fingers in the hair at my nape.

“Women always taste better after they’ve conceived. And I can keep them longer; they make much more blood when they’re host to a fetus.”

I pushed against him, turning away and vainly attempting to process his words. Pregnant? Taste better? Blood? My eyes focused on a card I hadn’t noticed earlier in the shadow box, a single word printed on it.

Bridgette

“Isn’t it ironic,” August mused, tracing my collarbone with a thick finger, “That five weeks ago, you had a chance encounter with the very thing you’ve been studying for months, and now you carry his child.”

The room spun. I couldn’t think; my brain refused to process the nonsense he spoke.

“Five—five weeks?! No that’s not possible, our date was last night!”

“It’s more than possible, sweet morsel. Think about it.”

Bile rose thick and acrid in my throat then, threatening to spill. Memories and time started filtering into my mind, replacing the fog with everything I’d lost. The last puzzle piece clicked into place, confusion all but disappeared and I was left with nothing but the cold, terrifying truth. Pijavica. Vampire. Monster.

I’d fallen into the clutches of a monster.

I did the only thing I could think of; I slapped him as hard as I could and took off through the house, ignoring the sharp pain of a chunk of hair remaining in his hand. My heart pounded in my chest, desperate to be free of this sudden nightmare. I slammed into the front door and grabbed the handle, a strangled sob catching in my throat when it wouldn’t open.

I rattled the door knob, panic consuming every fiber of my being. Suddenly, it wasn’t just my life I was fighting for; apparently there was a life inside of me that needed protecting. The child of a Pijavica that was depending on me to escape, so that he could come back and kill his father. I have to get out. I gave up on the door in anger, spinning around and looking for another way.

“Do you know why I chose you?”

I heard August’s voice again, but he was nowhere to be seen. His voice came louder, penetrating my mind. I have to keep moving.

“It was because of your name; they match your eyes.”

I whimpered at his words, sneaking my head around a corner to survey the living space for some form of an exit.

“Amber has a historical application, you see,” he went on, louder. I dashed over the floor, desperate to be gone from him. Door after door remained locked, and my terror grew with each attempt. Every now and then I could hear August, whether it be a rustle of fabric or the knock of his foot on the wooden floor. The scholar in me knew that it was on purpose, that he was luring his prey, giving chase to his food, and yet my rational mind refused to take charge. I was being led by my flight response, and his jarring monologue wasn’t helping.

“Throughout history, whenever a goddess cried it was typically tears of amber, save for the goddess Freya, who cried gold. You met her in the bedroom.”

His laughter echoed through the dark walls of his lair, and chilled me to my core. It was no longer a beautiful sound, but grating and horrible. I was nothing but a petty human to play with, some toy that he could eat when he tired of me. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I came to the last door. Dear God, please let this one open. To my utter relief, the door swung wide and I was met with stairs. Stairs went down, and we were on a cliff. Down was good. Down meant freedom.

I clambered down the steps and flung open the door at the bottom, stumbling into the room and falling to the floor in horror and fear. There in front of me, was nothing but mirrors. A maze of mirrors, each one showing me my trembling features, mocking me, letting me know just how fucked I was. I turned back, intending to go back up the stairs and try another way, but August’s silhouette stood at the top, preventing me from going back into the house. I heard a scream and realized it was my own.

Scrambling off the floor, I took off into the maze, blinded by my tears.

“Each of those girls made it this far you know,” August taunted. I heard the slam of the door and nearly choked as I ran. “You’ll die in this room, just like they did.”

His nonchalance, his continual unconcern about chasing me, his arrogance that he would no doubt catch me made me so angry. I raced from path to path, growing ever more frantic every time I reached a dead end. I didn’t even know if this room had an exit, I just knew I had to keep moving. I tripped over something as I rounded a corner, screaming when I saw what it was.

“I see you found Bridgette,” August chuckled, and I looked up from the skeleton to see his hideous face marred with a sinful sneer. I gasped and took off again, turning this way and that. Hitting another dead end, I doubled back and ran smack into August’s broad torso. He caught me and held me close as I screamed, ripping his shirt from my body. He spun me around, pinning my wrists between my back and his belly, trailing his fingers languidly over my naked frame in an inspection of his handiwork. My jaw was gripped in an iron vice and August forced my gaze to the mirror.

“Do you see what I see?” he mocked. I could only stare in horror, for nothing but my own terrified expression stared back at me.

August had no reflection.

“Out of all the patterns in the world, do you know which tears are my favorite?” August continued to torment. He inhaled my hair deeply, snaking his tongue along the length of my cheek, tasting the stains my tears had left in their wake.

“Fear.”

I heard August growl as I fought against him, his iron grasp caging me against his cool skin, more of the cursed moisture pooling in my eyes. Glassy drops fell, retracing a new path toward my chin but August just kissed them away, shoving me to the floor when my knees buckled of their own accord. He let go of my hands to fidget with his slacks, pulling me back toward him every time I tried to crawl away as a parent would to a petulant child. On the third attempt he snapped my knee, a scream tearing from my throat in my woeful submission to his desire.

Finally free of his clothes, August lifted my hips, lining his rigid cock up against my sweat-soaked folds. He dove into my treasure without care, forcing his way into the depths of my belly, stretching and tearing my walls until he was fully sheathed. Strong arms wrapped around me again, and I felt two sharp points prick the junction of my neck and shoulder. I cried out and thrashed in fierce protest, knowing that small pinch was just a warning of oncoming pain.

August’s teeth punctured my skin easily, shredding muscle and sinew until they hit bone. I howled in pain as I watched blood drip from the wound, a familiar crescent shape joining its brothers on my body. Searing heat shot through my neck with his first draw of thick plasma; the violent removal of blood causing an intense burn that I felt all the way down to my injured leg. August released my neck and I clapped a hand over the fresh wound.

I looked over my shoulder at him; his head was tilted down, mouth still full of my blood; the lack of a reflection behind him unsettling to my senses. August opened his wicked maw slowly, dark scarlet trickling from his lips onto the junction where my hips met his, run through by his sword. He looked up at me with a nasty grin, bloodstained fangs curdling my stomach. I closed my eyes and turned away as he swiped a hand through the mess. His fingers penetrated my core alongside his cock, deaf to my sobbing objections.

“You’d better open your eyes, pet… This needy little cunt is dripping, I’d hate for you to miss it.”

August emphasized his sick joke by grasping my hair, shoving my head to the floor, forcing me to look once more into the polished glass. My desperate wails for mercy were all that kept me grounded as I watched him thrust, my battered hole be stretched beyond capacity. Nothing but empty space plundered my core, crimson air bruising the very place within me that only just last night had been treated with such tenderness and care. Not last night. His slick fingers found my mouth and violated it effortlessly; no amount of pressure I could apply would break through his tough skin.

“God, you look so beautiful.”

August pulled me up and took to my neck with fervor, latching onto the broken sliver of skin like a leech. The more he drank, the weaker I became, until there was no resistance left within me. I could see the color drain from my bloody face, I could see black slowly creep into my vision, but I was powerless to stop it. August was in charge, he held my entire existence in his hands, and he intended to extinguish it. I closed my eyes again, accepting my fate.

I was going to die.

One of my favorite places to visit is a small outdoor cafe, very near the coffee shop where I met Amber. Mmmm. Amber. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of that tantalizing woman.

She lasted so much longer than all the others, you know. I was able to feed off of her nearly three full months as she hung there in my basement, until the last drop of her tantalizing nectar was finally extracted. She smelled of carraway and saffron, tasted of sweet mulled wine, and with the rich, heady, piquancy of her fertile womb seasoning each sinew, every inch of her opulent flesh begged to be consumed. I must admit, I should have dispatched of her sooner, but fascination overtook my curious mind as her own was consumed by insanity.

First it was freedom she asked for, and then death. Sometimes she would beg to speak to her mother one last time. But by the end, she only asked for one thing.

“Please,” she would whisper, “Please… Cover the mirrors. Just cover the mirrors.”

She asked so nicely, but how on earth could I hide such beauty? Her tears were just as rare, you see. They hold a beauty unmatched by any of the others that hang on my walls. I’ve never seen such a fear pattern like hers; it is more exquisite than the dawn of a misty spring day in the countryside, more beautiful than a woman at the height of euphoria. And they way they sparkled against her skin, lustrous tracks that wound down her temples and through her hair, glinting in the mirrors with each slow rotation of her inverted body... well, it was as if I was living among the stars. Adding her ashes to my garden was such a shame.

I sat at that little cafe, eyes closed, viewing the world through my enhanced scent. Each drop of bitter coffee, the pollen of a nearby bee, the oil in the bike chains of two clumsy humans as they rolled past; each note and fragrance alerting me to its owner. A familiar scent reached my nose and I turned my head sharply, focusing on it.

Carraway… Saffron.

I smiled softly, opening my eyes to greet the woman that now sat at my table. The honey irises that had intrigued me all those months ago met mine and I chuckled low.

“Amber.”

Read on AO3.

#august walker #august walker fanfic #august walker fan fiction #august walker fanfiction #august walker fan fic #august walker smut #vampire!august #non-con tw

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camslightstories · 3 years

Text

Breath in, Breath out

Baby Danvers. Alex Danvers x reader, Kara Danvers x reader.

Notes: Hi!!! This request took a lot of me, I didn't know how to write neither with what script. Its not one of my best works but well. So I'm sorry its not that good, I hope you like it. I will gladly receive any comment, feedback, suggestion or request. Have a great day!

Request: Anonymous - “Maybe a oneshot where B!D has an asthma attack?”

Taglist: @captain-josslett @aznblossom @multi-images

The mornings in National City would be warm, and attractive to look forward to. The smell of coffee invaded your nose as you waited for your sisters outside of Noonan’s. It was a cloudy day, with small breezes that hit your body as you waited.

Your chest has been giving you shortness of breath at some moments of the day, for now, two weeks. Your chest closing out, as your breathing began to feel heavy for the fifth time today. Coughing trying to catch your breath quickly as you saw your sisters approaching you with a worried face as they saw your small attack.

Since you can remember asthma was a part of your life. In middle school and high school attacks became usual since you had two hours of practice before and after school. It had been a while since your last attack about 3 years since it happened. It was the worst one yet, leaving you in a hospital bed for weeks after it happened. After two years without a single attack, you left your inhaler at the side. You were leaving a healthy lifestyle without any obstacles.

Kara and Alex had always been the overprotective type of sisters over you. And your asthma problems did not help the situation. They would do helicopter parenting on you every time, everywhere, on any occasion. Your tolerance for their protectiveness was quite high compared to them.

The blonde reporter was the first one to hug you before your red-headed sister invaded you with questions. “Are you okay? What happened? Are you dehydrated ?”

“I’m fine, Al. It's just the weather.” You responded quickly brushing off, as you extended your hands to bring your oldest sister into a hug. Both of them grabbing their corresponded coffees after the greeting.

With a donut in your right hand and an ice pistachio frappuccino on the other. You walked side by side with your sisters through the bay of National City. Catching up with the latest of your lives since you last saw each other.

Kara claimed as the three of you sat on a bench. Alex mostly had bugged you with protective questions, but when you kept quiet after the redhead asked about your grades. Your Kryptonian sister decided to take the lead. “But you are not overworking yourself, are you Y/N?”

You quickly responded as you took another bite of the donut, trying to evade the question. “Nope, working and studying just fine”

The truth was that as an engineering student, with people thinking highly of you. You had to bust your ass off studying and working in your Junior year in college. Your schedule may have had to change to 2 hours of sleeping and 5 coffees a day but it was the only way to be best for the people you loved and cared about.

“Why are you lying!?” Your oldest sister yelled as she tugged your oversize jacket.

You responded as you abruptly moved your arm from her gap, giving her an annoyed look, when she tried to pressure again for the same thing.“I’m not lying, Alexandra”

Your blonde sister keeps quiet as the federal agent kept pushing your buttons for questions. Your face retains the annoyance of the situation only to change when your breathing becomes heavier and difficult to retain.

Your voice began to crack when you felt your chest tightened. And your breath getting caught in your throat after your sister concluded in the conversation. “You are not even going to finish it like you don't finish anything! You are just treating this like a hobby only in the end to come to us saying how you made the wrong decision again!”

Kara was caught off guard as Alex yelled at her. She went into shock watching your whole reaction of hurt when it came from one of the persons you love the most. The redhead’s face went into complete regret the moment you responded.

“Fuck you, Alex” Your breathing gets heavier as you hear the words coming out of her mouth. Coughing slightly before walking backward slowly getting away from her. Tears threading to come out and you clenched to your backpack before walking away.

Your coughing began to increase as you walked to your apartment, the day seemed to get colder and the feeling of hurt that your sister gave you wasn't helping either. Sure you had your problems in deciding what you wanted to do, you were a not very successful person in a lot of things. Even after trying to do a lot of things, you failed on all of them. And it wasn't because you didn't try hard enough because you weren't made to do certain things.

You are not even going to finish it like you don't finish anything

Alex’s words kept running through your head as everything around you started to collapse. Your breathing became heavier and you felt as if you could even breathe. Your mind became clouded as your vision did. No words were coming out of your mouth when you tried to ask for help. And in the blink of an eye, you felt falling into the concrete as you were caught by two familiar arms leaving you unconscious.

Your blonde sister listened to your heartbeat as they kept walking. She knew that leaving Alex in her regretful feelings, to chase after you who were hurt by your oldest sister wasn't the best idea. You would have yelled at her too, separating you from them and shutting everyone out. While the redhead would just go to drown herself in alcohol.

The moment she heard your heart rate increased, she flew over immediately to see you in front of your apartment building. With your hand in your chest as you looked around, hyperventilating and coughing losing balance. Kara called you a few times only for you to be lost in your world. Wrapping her arms around you the moment you lost consciousness, she recognizes everything.

Calling Alex to meet her at the hospital, she gently carried you into it. Kissing your forehead before pulling you into a hospital bed as the medical team came to check on you after she had yelled for them. The facade on hers and Alex’s faces as both of them stood scared for your life.

Kara could hear the doctor's orders, as they shocked you more than once. Regaining you back to life. It was an asthma attack, you hadn't had one in years. This one seemed to be the one that could have ended your life and the worst one you ever had.

Alex cried into Supergirl's shoulder as the doctors came out, letting them see you. You were in the hospital bed connected with various machines. You looked somewhat peaceful, your lips were still blue from the attack. Kara remained quiet as she comforted your oldest sister. The blonde blamed herself because she wasn't fast enough, and they had lost you for minutes. And the redhead blamed herself for the attack maybe if she wasn't yelling at you, it wouldn't have happened.

----

“Aren't you missing something?” You woke up to a wide and bright light in front of your head. Trying to regain your breath as you did putting your hands immediately to your chest. Lifting your head you see both of your sisters embracing each other, making you smile sadly before joking.

Kara and Alex immediately chuckled softly before walking to each side of your bed. You coughed after the words left your mouth. Your hair bothered your eyes, trying to move it you tried to move your hand only to find it hard enough to reach.

There wasn't any strength left in your body. Everything felt heavy and strange just like all those years before. You had felt it the moment everything went black.

Alex moved the hair out of your face, as Kara held your hand. Words getting caught in her throat as she opened her mouth multiple times. Kara took the lead as she first addressed the question. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay” You murmured, giving them a reassuring smile.

Alex started to claim tears running down her cheeks “I’m sorry, I'm so sorry”

You shake your head before speaking. Your voice came out as if your mouth was full of food. “It’s ok, Al”

“I didn't mean it, I didn't Y/N/N” Alex sobbed into your chest as you tried to comfort her, whispering comforting words as she cried. Kara stood at the side rubbing her hand, quiet as she watched your’s and Alex’s interaction.

You responded quietly, as your tears began to come out.“I know, okay? I know”

Memories of sisters' night, crying and laughing. At your and your sisters' lowest and highest moments. Days and nights begin at each other's side at every moment of the day and night. Ice creams, pizzas, potstickers, and more things exchange as you were in each other's embrace.

“We are your big sisters, and we are going to bug you in all the possible ways to protect and also to annoy you, little one,” Kara said making you three laugh wetly, as you nodded before the three of you hugged each other.

And you knew that even sometimes when their words hurt you, and stabbed you in the back with the truth. That they did it because they loved you, they cared about you, and they wanted the best for you. As you did for them.

#baby danvers #kara danvers x reader #alex danvers x reader #supergirl imagine

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